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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 


DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 
SOCIETIES 


PRUT31 
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1890 


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11  42  43  44  45  4t  47  4!  43  53  5!  52  53  54  55  55  57  51  55' 


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This  line  is  truly  named.  It  is  Select  because  each  title  in  it 
has  been  selected  with  great  care  from  among  hundreds  of  books 
by  well-known  authors. 

A  glance  over  the  following  list  will  show  the  names  of  Mary 
j'.  Holmes,  Marie  Corelli,  Rider  Haggard,  “The  Duchess,”  R.  D. 
Blackmore,  and  translations  of  some  of  the  more  famous  French 
authors  like  Victor  Hugo,  an'd  Alphonse  Daudet, 

If  you  are  looking  for  books  which  will  add  to  your  knowledge 
of  literature,  a  complete  set  of  the  Select  Library  which  is  so 
reasonably  priced  will  do  more  for  you  than  a  like  amount  ex¬ 
pended  on  ordinary  fiction  between  cloth  covers. 

ALL  TITLES  ALWAYS  IN  PRINT 


1 —  Cousin  Maude  . By  Mary  J.  Holme? 

2 —  Rosamond  Le3d;on  . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

6 — Beulah  . . By  Augusta  J.  Evans 

10 — The  Homestead  on  the  Hillside . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

14 — East  Lynne  . By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood 

16 — A  Romance  of  Two  Worlds . By  Marie  Corelli 

If — Cleopatra  . By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

18 — Maggie  Miller  . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

27 —  Under  Two  Flags .  By  “Ouida” 

28 —  Dora  Deane  . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

29 —  ^Ardath.  Vol.  I . By  Marie  Corelli 

30 —  Ardath.  Vol.  II . By  Marie  Corelli 

31 —  The  Light  That  Failed . By  Rudyard  Kipling 

32 —  Tempest  and  Sunshine  . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

35— Inez. . . By  Augusta  J.  Evans 


SELECT  LIBRARY. 


36-Phyllis . By  “The  Duchess” 

42 —  Vendetta  . By  Marie  Corelli 

43 —  Sapho  . . By  Alphonse  Daudet 

44 —  Lena  Rivers  . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

48 — Meadowbrook  . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

50 —  Won  by  Waiting . By  Edna  Lyall 

51 —  Camille  . By  Alexandre  Dumas 

53 —  Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin . By  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe 

54 —  The  English  Orphans . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

57 —  Ethelyn’s  Mistake....- . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

58 —  Treasure  island . By  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

59 —  ^Mildred  Trevanion . By  “The  Duchess” 

60 —  Dead  Man’s  Rock . By  “Q.”  (A.  T.  Quiller-Couch) 

61 —  The  Iron  Pirate . By  Max  Pemberton 

62 —  -Molly  Bawn . By  “The  Duchess” 

63 —  Lorna  Doone . By  R.  D.  Blackmore 

66 —  Airy  Fairy  Lilian . .-By  “The  Duchess” 

67 —  The  Cruise  of  the  “Cachalot” . By  Frank  T.  Bullen 

69 — The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii...-  ...  .By  Sir  Bulwer  iyLton 

71 —  The  Duchess .  . . By  “The  Duchess” 

72—  Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills . By  Rudyard  Kipling 

75 —  She..  . By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

76 —  Beatrice  . By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

77 —  Eric  Brighteyes . ...By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

78 —  Beyond  the  City . By  A.  Conan  Doyle 

79 —  Rossmoyne  . . . By  “The  Duchess” 

80 —  King  Solomon’s  Mines . By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

81 —  She’s  All  the  World  to  Me . By  Hall  Caine 

83 —  Kidnaped . By  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

84 —  Undercurrents  . By  “The  Duchess” 

.87 — The  House  on  the  Marsh . By  Florence  Warden 

88 —  The  Witch’s  Head . By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

89 —  A  Perilous  Secret . By  Charles  Reade 

95 — Beauty’s  Daughters . By  “The  Duchess” 

100 — ^Led  Astray . . . By  Octave  Feuillet 

102 — Marvel . By  “The  Duchess” 

107 —  The  Visits  of  Elizabeth . By  Elinor  Glyn 

108 —  Allan  Quatermain . By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

no — Soldiers  Three . By  Rudyard  Kipling 

1 13 —  A  Living  Lie . By  Paul  Bourget 

114 —  Portia . By  “The  Duchess” 

117 —  ^John  Halifax,  Gentleman . By  Miss  Mulock 

118 —  The  Tragedy  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix . By  Adolphe  Belot 

1 19 —  A  Princess  of  Thule . By  William  Black 

122 —  Doris . By  “The  Duchess” 

123- ^Carmen  and  Colomba . By  Prosper  Merimee 

125 —  The  Master  of  Ballantrae . By  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

126 —  The  Toilers  of  the  Sea . By  Victor  Hugo 

127 —  Mrs.  Geoffrey . By  “The  Duchess” 

128 —  ^jack’s  Courtship . By  W.  Clark  Russell 


^  _  SELECT  LIijRAI^Y.  .  . 

129 —  'Love  and  Shipwreck . By  W.  Clark  Russell 

130 —  Beautiful  Jim . By  John  Strange  Winter 

131 —  'Lady  Audley’s  Secret . ....By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon 

132 —  The  Frozen  Pirate . By  W.  Clark  Russell 

133 —  Rory  O’Moore . By  Samuel  Lover 

134 —  Modern  Circe . By  “The  Duchess” 

13s — Foul  Play . By  Charles  Reade 

137 —  I  Have*Lived  and  Loved . By  Mrs.  Forrester 

138 —  Elsie  Venner . By  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 

139 —  ^Hans  of  Iceland . *..By  Victor  Hugo 

141 — Lady  Valworth’s  Diamonds . By  “The  Duchess” 

143 — John  Holdsworth,  Chief  Mate . By  W.  Clark  Russell 

145 —  Jess . By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

146 —  The  Honorable  Mrs.  Vereker . By  “The  Duchess" 

147 —  The  Dead  Secret . By  Wilkie  Collins 

148 —  Ships  That  Pass  in  the  Night . By  Beatrice  Harraden 

149 —  The  Suicide  Club . By  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

150 —  A  Mental  Struggle . By  “The  Duchess” 

152 —  ^Colonel  Quaritch,  V.  C . By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

153 —  The  Way  of  a  Siren . By  “The  Duchess” 

155 — Faith  and  Unfaith . By  “The  Duchess” 

158 —  ^Lady  Branksmere . By  “The  Duchess” 

159 —  A  Marriage  at  Sea . By  W.  Clark  Russell 

162 — Dick’s  Sweetheart . By  “The  Duchess” 

166 — The  Phantom  Rickshaw . ..By  Rudyard  Kipling 

209 —  Rose  Mather . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

210 —  At  Mather  House . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

21 1 —  Edith  Trevor’s  Secret . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

212 —  Cecil  Rosse . . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

213 —  Cecil’s  Triumph . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

214 —  Guy  Earlscourt’s  Wife . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

215 —  The  Leighton  Homestead . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

216 —  Georgie’s  Secret . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

217 —  ^Lady  Kildare . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

218 —  ^Kathleen’s  Strange  Husband . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

219 —  'Millbank . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

220 —  Magda’s  Choice . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

221 —  Sundered  Hearts . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

222 —  Bitter  Sweet . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

223 —  Edith  Lyle’s  Secret . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

224 —  Edith’s  Daughter . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

225 —  -A  Wonderful  Woman . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

226 —  The  Mystery  of  Bracken  Hollow.. By  May  Agaes  Fleming 

227 —  The  Haunted  Husband . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

228 —  The  White  Life  Endures . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

229 —  Darkness  and  Daylight . By  Mar}”-  J.  Holmes 

230 —  The  Unloved  Husband . B}'-  Mary  J.  Holmes 

231 —  'Neva’s  Three  Loyers  . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

232—  Neva’s  Choice . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 


J 


WHY? 

During  the  year  1923,  more  Street  &  Smith 
novels  were  sold  than  in  any  other  single  year. 
[To  the  outsider  who  never  read  one,  the 
natural  question  occurs — “Why?” 

Well,  we  will  tell  you  why.  If  a  fairy  wand 
could  suddenly  invest  all  the  characters  in  our 
paper  covered  books  with  life,  what  a  mighty 
army  of  them  there  would  be,  and  how  inter¬ 
esting  it  would  be  to  watch  them  go  through 
the  adventures  as  told  in  the  books! 

We  would  find  the  millionaire  and  the 
pauper  rubbing  elbows.  We  would  find  the 
honest  man  and  the  thief  conversing.  We 
would  find  the  mother  and  the  social  butterfly 
not  only  giving  their  views  on  life,  but  actually 
living  their  lives  before  our  very  eyes. 

Do  you  not  see,  then,  why  the  Street  & 
'Smith  novel  is  popular?  Must  we  tell  you? 
It  is  simply  and  solely  that  our  stories  depict 
life  as  it  is,  and  there  is  nothing  more  vitally 
interesting  than  life. 

This  catalog  just  teems  with  titles  of  goodie 
wholesome  books.  Ask  your  dealer  to  show 
you  an  assortment.  He  will  be  glad  to. 

STREET  &  SMITH  CORPORATION 

79  Seventh  Avenue  New  York  City 


JESS 


A  TALE  OF  SOUTH  AFRICA 


BY 

H.  RIDER  HAGGARD 

AUTHOR  OF 

^*She,”  “Cleopatra,”  “King  Solomon’s  Mines,”  “Eric  Brighteyes,’^ 
“Dawn,”  “The  Witch’s  Head,”  and  other  popular  ro¬ 
mances  published  in  S.  &  S.  Edition. 


(Printed  In  the  United  States  of  America)', 

STREET  &  SMITH  CORPORATION! 

PUBLISHERS 

79-89  Seventh  Avenue,  New  York 


X^l 


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JOriJT  HAS  AN  ADVEN'i’TJF.Bl 


j^E  da:v  liad  beeii  very  hot,  oven  for  the  Tr?-’-'iSva;iJ, 
where,  even  hi  ilie  eiiMiiiiii,  ilie  da^'s  stiil  know  Inniv  to  he 
hot.  aklionpjh  the  neck  of  tlie  summer  is  hrolcen-  ihm.r  is, 
■when  1  be  tinindcv  storiTis  noid  off  fora  week  or  i.w  i,  as  riv-y 
occn  -a,).ially  wiih  Even  tbesnoculent  blue  lilies-  a  '■.•ariety 
of  the  a^rariantims  which  is  so  faraitiar  to  us  in  Euirhsh 


^rr-'-n 


SOI! 


■hung  iheir  lojig  ‘Lnuripet-shapod  fiOV'cr:- 


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looko.t  uppr<^sv;erl  a!id  T!iiserai)le,  beneath  the  biumiug  in  path 
of  ti'no  iiut  wind  vvliich  liadi  been  blowing  for  hours  like  the 
drauchii,  of  a  volcano.  The  gi-ass,  too,  near  the  w:-,:e  rc-a  J- 
wa\-.  riiat  stretched  in  a  feeble  and  i’vifJterminate  surt  of 
fashioii  across  the  veldt,  forking,  branching,  n:!,d  rermitiug 
lilo  ;.l!u  I’eine  o’l  a  j;uiy's  nrsn,  xvas  comph-'ie: y  co'i^ed  ove'r 
wic!)  ,a  i.hiok  layer  of  red  dust.  .But  the  isot  I'-'iud  w,a3 
go;  ig  (lo'-vii  no'^\^  as  it  always  does  to'-vard  siiiis^^t.  Indeed, 
all  i.iififc  remuiiied  of  it  wei'e  a  few  .strictly  iovtal  and  mmia- 
tur  ■  vihri  winds,  w hie n  would  .siiddeJil}'  spring  u|>0!i  the  road 
it'n'i.y  rt.n.d  t'-vi.a  ami  twirl  ;ie!'cel.y  round,  rai.sing  a  mighty' 
cr.i  nm  of  dn.st  fifty  feet  or  fuore  iiVto  tlie  air,  where  it 
iiurig  long  after  the  cau.se  of  it  had  pa.ssed.  and  tkenolovvly 
di  -ojved  as  .its  particles  floated  to  the  earth. 

b/oniiiig  along  the  road,  in  the  liLvmoJ. iato  track,  c;  -y.ii. 
/Y-)the-c  desultory  and  inexplicable  whirlwinds,  was  a  t33an 
^cn  i!'>rseback.  The  JXian  looked  liinp  and  dirty,  u;-.'! 

liniper  and  dirtier.  Tlie  liot  v/i.id  lii:I  taken  all  ilte 
/rj bones  oat  of  them,  as  the  Kafirs  say,  wiiicU  'vms  rvf  verr 
o  ranch  ic  be  wondered  at,  seeing  tliat  ti'icv  had  been  jou? 
V-i  neying  through  it  for  the  last  four  b.our.-;,  with-out  off-sad- 
.  dling.  Suddenly  the  whirlwind,  which  'lird  been,  traveling 
along  xfretty  smartly,  halted,  and  th.?  ■'-m-'"  f-hor  tarnuig 
round  a  few,  times  in  the  air  like  a  d^  i  _  ■  ;  -mw.ly  begaa 

'K  ^ 


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i 


JESS. 


to  dissolve  in  the  accustomed  fashion.  Tne  mteii  on  th® 
horse  halted  too,  and  contemplated  it  in  an  absent  kind  of 
way. 

“  It’s  just  like  a  man’s  life,”  he  said  aloud  to  his  horse, 
“cominf::  from  nobody  knows  where,  nobody  knows  why, 
and  making  a  little  column  of  dust  on  the  world’s  high¬ 
way,  and  then  parsing  away  and  leaving  the  dust  to  faU 
to  the  ground  again,  and  be  trodden  under  foot  and  forgot¬ 
ten.” 

The  speaker,  a  stout,  'well  set-up,  rather  ugly  man,  ap¬ 
parently  on  the  wrong  side  of  thirty,  with  pleasant  blue 
eyes  and  a  reddish  peaked  beard,  laughed  a  little  at  his 
own  sententious  reflection,  and  then  gave  his  jaded  horse 
a  tap  with  the  .yjambo^ok  in  hi?  hand. 

“  Come  on.  Blesbok,”  he  said,  “  or  we  shall  never  get  to 
old  Croft's  place  lo  night.  By  Jove!  I  believe  that  must 
be  the  turn,”  and  he  pointed  with  his  whip  to  a  little  rutty 
track  that  turned  from  the  Wakkerstrooin  main  road  and 
stretched  away  townard  a  curiou.s,  isolated  hill  with  a  large 
flat  top,  that  rose  out  of  the  rolling  plain  some  four  milee 
to  the  right.  "The  old  Boer  said  the  second  tuny”  ha 
went  on,  still  talking  to  himself.  ‘‘  but  perhaps  he  lied.  I . 
am  told  that  some  of  them  think  it  a  good  joke  to  send  an 
Englishman  a  few  mile.s  wrong.  Let’s  see;  they  said  tha 

Elace  was  under  the  lee  of  a  table-topped  hill,  about  half  an 
our’s  ride  from  the  main  road,  and  that  is  a  table-topped 
hill,  so  I  tliuik  I  will  try  it.  Como  on,  Blesbolc,”  and  he  put 
the  tired  nag  iiito  a  sort  of  "tripple,  ”  or  ambling  canter 
much  affected  by  South  African  horses. 

" Life  IS  a  queer  thing,’’  reflected  Captain  John  Niel  to 
himself  as  he  slowly  cantered  along.  "Now  here  am  I.  at 
the  age  of  thirty  four,  about  to  begin  the  world  again  as 
assistant  to  an  old  Transvaal  farmer.  It  is  a  pretty  end  to 
all  one’s  ambitions,  and  to  fourteen  years’  work  in  the 
army:  but  it  is  what  it  has  come  to,  my  boy,  so  you  had 
better  make  the  best  of  it  ” 

Just  then  his  cogitations  were  interrupted,  foi  on  the 
further  side  of  a  gentle  slope  there  suddenly  appeared  an 
extraordinary  sight.  Over  the  crest  of  the  rise  cf  land, 
now  some  four  or  five  hundred  yards  away,  a  pony  with  a 
lady  on  its  back  came  wildly  galloping,  and  after  it,  with 
wings  spread  and  outstretched  neck,  a  huge  cock  ostrich 
was  speeding  along,  covering  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  at  every 
stride  of  its  long  legs.  The  pony  was  still  twenty  yards 
aliead  of  the  bird,  and  coming  toward  John  rapidly,  but 
strive  as  it  wmuld  it  could  not  distance  the  swiftest  thing 
on  all  the  earth.  Five  seconds  past — the  great  bird  was 
close  alongside  now— ah!  and  John  Niel  turned  sick  and 
his  _ for  be  saw  the  c»tr’cV>’^  fhick  leg 


JESS,  5 

fly  high  in  the  air  and  then  sweep  down  like  a  leaded  bind- 
p'eoTi ! 

Thud !  It  had  missed  the  lady  and  struck  the  horse 
(ipon  tlio  spine,  behind  the  saddle,  for  the  moment  com¬ 
pletely  paralyzing  it,  so  that  it  fell  all  of  a  heap  on  to  the 
veldt.  In  a  moment  the  girl  on  its  back  was  up  and  off  to¬ 
ward  him,  and  after  her  came  the  ostrich.  Up  v.-ent  the 
great  log  again,  but  before  it  came  crashing  on  her  shoul¬ 
ders  she  had  flung  herself  face  downward  on  the  g!’ass. 
In  an  instant  the  huge  bird  was  on  the  top  of  her,  kicking 
at  her.  rolling  over  her,  and  crushing  the  '/ery  life  out  or 
her.  It  was  at  this  juncture  that  John  Niel  arrived  upon 
the  scene. 

The  moment  the  ostrich  saw  him  he  gave  up  his  attacks 
bpon  the  lad,y  oii  the  ground  and  began  to  waltz  toward 
him  with  a  pompous  sort  of  step  that  these  birds  sometimes 
assume  before  they  give  battle.  Now  Captain  Neil  was  un¬ 
accustomed  to  the  ways  of  the  ostriches,  and  so  was  his 
horse,  which  showed  a  strong  inclination  to  bolt;  as,  in¬ 
deed,  under  other  circumstances,  his  rider  would  have  been 
glad  to  do  himself.  But  he  could  not  abandon  beauty  in 
distress,  so,  finding  it  impossible  to  coniirol  his  horse,  he 
slipped  off  it,  and,  with  his  sjambock  or  hide- whip  in  his 
hand,  valiantly  faced  the  enemy.  For  a  moment  or  two 
the  great  bird  stood  still,  blinking  its  lustrous  round  eyes 
at  him  and  gently  swaying  its  graceful  neck  to  and  fro. 
Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  it  spread  out  its  wings  and  came  for 
him  like  a  thunderbolt.  He  sprung  to  one  side,  and  was 
aware  of  a  rustle  of  rushing  feathers,  and  of  a  vision  of  a 
thick  leg  striking  dov.uiward  past  his  head.  Fortunately 
it  missed  him,  and  the  ostrich  sped  past  like  a  flash.  Be¬ 
fore  he  could  turn,  however,  it  was  back  and  had  landed 
the  full  weight  of  one  of  its  aXvful  forward  kicks  in  the 
broad  of  his  back,  and  away  l^e  went  head-over-heels  like 
a  shot  rabbit.  In  a  second  he  was  on  his  legs  again,  shaken 
itideed.  but  not  much  the  worse,  and  perfectly  mad  with 
fury  and  pain.  At  him  came  the  ostrich,  and  at  the  os¬ 
trich  went  he,  catching  it  a  blow  across  the  slim  neck  with 
his  sjambock,  that  staggered  it  for  a  moment.  Profiting 
by  the  check,  he  seized  the  bird  by  the  wing  and  held  on 
like  grim  death  with  both  hands.  Their  they  began  to 
gyrate,  slowly  at  first,  then  quicker,  and  yet  more  quick, 
till  at  last  it  .seemed  to  Captain  John  Niel  that  time  and 
..mace  and  the  solid  earth  were  nothing  but  a  revolving 
Viion  fi;<ed  somevvher*e  in  the  watches  of  the  night.  Above 
n,  like  a  stationary  pivot,  towmred  the  tall,  graceful 
■’k,  beneath  him  spun  tne  top-like  legs,  and  in  front  or 
n  was  a  soft  black  and  white  mass  of  feathers. 

•I’hud,  and  ctoud  of  stars  1  He  was  on  bis  b;'ck.  andthd 


JESS. 


ostrich,  did  not  seem  to  be  affected  by  giddiness,  was 
on  him,  punishing  him  dreadfull^^  Luckily  an  ostrich  can¬ 
not  kick  a  man  very  hard  ^vhen  he  is  flat  on  the  ground. 
If  ho  could,  there  would  have  been  an  end  of  John  Niel,  and 
this  story  need  ue.vev  have  been  written. 

Half  a  minute  or  so  passed,  during  which  the  bird  worked 
his  sweet  will  upnn  his  prostrate  enemy,  and  at  the  end  of 
it  the  man  began  to  feel  very  much  as  though  his  earthly 
career  was  closed.  Just  as  things  were  growing  faint  and 
dim  to  him,  however,  he  suddenly  saw  a  pair  of  white  arms 
clasp  themselves  round  the  ostrich’s  logs  from  behind,  and 
heard  a  voice  cry : 

“Break  his  neck  while  I  hold  his  legs,  or  he  will  kill 
you.” 

This  roused  him  from  his  torpor,  and  he  staggered  to  his 
feet.  Meanwhile  the  ostrich  and  the  young  lady  had  coma 
to  the  ground,  and  were  - rolling  about  together  in  a  con¬ 
fused  heap,  over  which  the  elegant  neck  and  open  hissing 
mouth  wavered  to  and  fro.  like  a  cobra  about  to  strike. 
With  a  rush  he  seized  the  neck  in  both  his  hands,  and, 
putting  out  all  his  strength  (for  he  was  a  strong  man), 
he  tw'i.sted  it  till  it  broke  with  a  snap,  and  after  a  few- 
wild  and  convulsive  bounds  and  struggles  the  greet  bird 
lay  dead. 


Then  he  dowm  da, zed  and  exhansted,  a.nd  surveyed 
the  scci-se.  'ilie  ostrich  was  perfectly  quiet,  and  would 
never  kick  again,  and  the  lady,  too.  was  q'uiet.  He  won¬ 
dered  vaguely  if  the  brute  had  killed  her — he  was  as  yet 
too  weak  to  go  and  see — and  tlien  fell  to  gazing  at  her  face. 
Hej-  head  Avas  })ilIowed  on  the  body  of  the  dead  bird,  and 
its  feathery  plumes  made  it  a  fitting  resting-place.  Slc'.vly 
it  dawned  on  him  that  the  face  v/as  very  beautiful,  al¬ 
though  it  looked  so  pale  just  now.  Low,  broad  brow, 
croyuied  wuth  soft,  j’ellow  hair,  the  chin  very  round  and 
white,  the  mouth  sweet,  though  rather  large.  The  eyes 
he  cor.ld  not  see,  becrause  they  were  dosed,  for  tho  lady  had 
fainted.^  For  the  rest,  she  was  quite  young — about  lAventy, 
tali  and  tlnely  foi’med.  Presenily  he  got  a  little  better, 
and.  creeping  toward  her  (for  he  was  sadly  knocked  about), 
took  her  b.aral  mid  bj‘gan  to  chafe  it  between  his  owui.  Ifc 
was  a  Avoll-formed  hand,  but  brown,  and  showed  signs  of 
doii'ig  pleiity  of  hai’d  woi'k.  Soon  she  opened  her  eves,  and 
he  noted  Avith  satisfaction  that  they  Avere  very  good  eyes, 
blue  in  color.  Tiien  .she  sat  up  and  laughed  a'little. 

“Well,  I  a.m  silly,”  she  said;  '•  I  believe  I  fainted.” 

“  It  riot  much  to  bo  wondered  at,”  said  John  Niel,  po¬ 
litely,  and  lifting  his  hand  to  take  off  his  hat,  only  to  find 
that  it  hail  gone  in  the  fray.  “I  hope  you  hot  very 
anuch -ur  •  V  A,hQ  bird.”  “ 


JESS. 


7 


“I  don’t  knoAv,”  slie  said,  dojubtfully.  ''L  ^  am  glad 
tlaat  you  killed  tlie  skellum  (vicious  beast.)  He  got  out  of 
the  o.strich  camp  three  days  ago,  and  has  been  lost  over 
since.  He  killed  a  boy  last  year,  and  1  told  uncle  he  ought 
to  shoot  him  then,  but  ho  would  not,  because  he  was  such  a 
beauty.  ’  ’ 

"  Might  I  ask,”  said  John  Niel,  “are  you  Miss  Croft?” 

“Yes,  I  am — one  of  them.  There  are  two  of  us,  you 
know  ;  and  I  can  guess  who  you  are — you  are  Captain  Niel, 
whom  uncle  is  expecting  to  help  him  with  the  farm  ana 
the  ostriches.” 

“  If  all  of  them  arc  like  that,”  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
dead  bird,  “  I  don't  think  tha.fc  I  shall  take  kindly  to  ostrich 
farming.” 

She  laughed,  shondng  a  charming  line  of  teeth.  “Oh 
no,”  she  said,  “he  was  the  only  bad  one — but,  Captain 
Niel,  I  think  you  will  find  it  fearfully  duil.  There  are 
nothing  but  Boers  about  here,  you  know.  There  are  no 
English  people  nearer  than  Wakkerstrooin.  ” 

“You  overlook  yourself,”  he  said,  politely,  for  really 
this  d;'i, lighter  of  the  wilderness  had  a  very  charming  air 
about  her, 

“  Oh,”  she  answered,  “  I  am  only  a  girl,  you  know,  and 
besides,  I  am  not  clever.  Jess,  now— that’s  my  sister— Je.ss 
has  been  at  school  at  Cape  Town,  and  she  is  clever.  I  was 
at  Cape  Town,  too,  but  I  didn’t  learn  much  there.  But, 
Captain  Niel,  both  the  horses  have  bolted;  mine  has  gone 
boiye,  and  I  expect  yours  has  followed,  and  I  should  like 
to  know  how  we  are  going  to  get  up  to  Mooifoiitein  (beauti¬ 
ful  b.'mtain,  that's  what  we  call  our  place,  you  know). 
Can  }ou  walk?” 

“1  don't  know,”  he  answered  doubtfully;  “I’ll  try. 
That  bird  has  knocked  mo  about  a  good  deal,”  and  accord¬ 
ingly  he  staggered  on  to  his  legs,  only  to  collapse  with  an 
exclamation  of  pain.  His  ankle  v.uis  spiained,  and  he  was 
60  stiff  and  bruised  that  he  could  hardly  stir.  “  How  far 
is  the  house?”  he  asked. 

“  Only  about  a  mile — just  chere;  we  shall  see  it  from  the 
crest  of  the  rise.  Look,  I'm  all  right.  It  pvas  silly  to 
.faint,  but  he  kicked  all  the  breath  out  of  mo,”  and  she  got 
up  and  danced  a  little  on  the  grass  to  show  him.  “My 
Word,  though,  I  am  sore!  You  must  take  my  arm,  that  s 
all;  that  is  if  you  don’t  mind?” 

“Oh  dear  no,  indeed,  I  don’t  mind,”  he  said,  laughing; 
RJ40  so  they  started,  arm  affectionately  hnked  in  arnio 


JESS, 


CTTAPTET^  II. 

ii«  W  TITS  SISTERS  CAME  TO  MOOTPONTEm. 

Niel,”  said  Bessie  Croft  (for  that  was  h®f 
imiBe),  Avhen  they  had  painfully  limped  one  hundred 
yards  or  so,  “  will  you  think  me  rude  it  I  ask  you  a  ques¬ 
tion?” 

”  Not  at  all.  ” 

“What  has  induced  you  to  come  and  buiy  yourself  in 
this  place?” 

”  Why  do  you  ask?” 

“Because  I  don’t  think  that  you  will  like  it.  J  don’t 
think.”  she  added  slowly,  “that  it  is  a  fit  place  for  an 
English  gentleman  and  an  army  ofhcer  like  you.  You 
will  find  the  Boer  ways  norrid,  and  tlien  there  will  only 
be  my  old  uncle  and  us  two  for  you  to  associate  with.” 

John  Niel  laughed.  “English  gentlemen  ain’t  so  par¬ 
ticular  noAvadays,  I  can  tell  you,  Miss  Croft,  especially 
ivhen  they  have  to  earn  a  livitig.  Take  my  case  for  iu' 
stance,  for  I  may  as  Avell  tell  you  exactly  liow  I  stand.  ’  I 
bave  been  in  the  armj^  fourteen  years,  and  am  uoav  thirty' 
lour.  Well,  I  have  been  able  to  live  there,  because  I  had 
m  old  aunt  who  allowed  me  £120  a  ye.ar.  Six  months  ago 
she  died,  leaving  me  the  little  property  she  po.ssessed,  for 
most  of  her  income  came  from  an  annuity.  After  paying 
expenses,  duty,  etc.,  it  amounts  to  £1115.  Noav,  the  in¬ 
terest  on  that  is  about  fifty  pounds  a  year,  and  I  can’t  live 
in  the  army  on  timt.  Just  after  my  aunt’s  death,  I  Came 
to  Durban  Avith  niA^  regiment  from  Mauritius,  and  noAV 
they  are  ordered  home.  Well.  I  liked  the  country,  and 
I  knew  that  I  could  not  afford  to  liv'e  at  home,  so  I 
got  a  year’s  leave  of  absence,  and  made  up  my  mind  to 
have  a  look  round  to  see  if  I  could  not  take  to  farming. 
Then  a  gentleman  in  Durban  told  me  of  your  uncle,  and 
said  that  he  wanted  to  dispose  of  a  third  interest  in  his 
place  for  a  thousand  pounds,  as  he  was  getting  too  old  to 
manage  it  himself;  and  so  I  entered  into  correspondence 
with  him,  and  agreed  to  come  up  for  a  few  months  tc 
see  liOAv  I  liked  it;  and  accordingly  here  I  am,  just  in 
time  to  save  you  from  being  knocked  to  bits  by  an  os¬ 
trich.” 

“  Yes,  indeed,”  she  answered,  laughing;  “you’ve  had 
a  Avarm  welcome  at  any  rate.  Well,  I  hope  you  aaIII 
like  it.” 

Just  as  he  finished  his  story  they  got  to  the  top  of  tha 
2’i.se,  over  whicli  the  ostrich  had  pursued  Bes.sie  Croft,  and 
saAv  a  coming  toward  them,  leading  tlvA  pony  in  one 


JESS.  ® 

tx&rid  and  Captain  Niel’s  horse  in  the  other.  About  a  hun¬ 
dred  yards  behind  the  horses  a  lady  was  walking. 

“  Ah,”  said  Bessie,  “they’ve  canght  the  horses,  and  here 
is  Jess  come  to  S€>e  what  is  the  matter.” 

By  this  time  the  lady  in  quesiion  was  qviite  close,  so  that 
John  was  able  to  get  a  first  impression  of  her.  She  was 
small  and  rather  thin,  with  quantities  of  curling  brown 
hair;  not  by  any  means  a  lovely  wonuin,  as  her  sister  un¬ 
doubtedly  Avas,  but  possessing  tAvo  Amiy  remarkable  char¬ 
acteristics— a  complexion  of  extraordinary  and  uniform 
pallor,  and  a  pair  of  the  most  beautiful  dark  eyes  he  had 
ever  looked  on.  Altogether,  though  her  size  Avas  almost 
insignificant,  she  AAuas  a  striking  looking  person,  with  a  face 
one  Avas  not  likely  to  foi’get.  Before  he  had  time  to  ob- 
eerre  any  more  they  were  up  to  thiun. 

“  What  on  earth  is  the  matter,  Bessie?”  she  said,  Avith  a 
quick  glance  at  her  companion,  and  speaking  in  a  low  full 
voice,  Avith  just  a  slight  South  African  accent,  that  is  tak¬ 
ing  enough  in  a  pretty  woman.  Whereon  Bessie  broke  out 
with  a  history  of  their  adventure,  appealing  to  her  com¬ 
panion  for  confirmation  at  intervals. 

Meanwhile  her  sister  Jess  stood  quite  still  and  silent,  and 
it  struck  Captain  Niel  that  her  face  was  the  most  singu¬ 
larly  impressive  one  he  had  eA^er  seen.  It  neA^er  changed, 
even  Avhen  her  sister  told  ho'v  the  ostrich  rolled  on  her  and 
nearly  killed  her,  or  Iioav  they  finally  subdued  the  foe. 
“  Dear  me,”  he  thought  to  himself,  “  Avhat  a  very  remark¬ 
able  Avoman!  She  can’t  have  much  heart.”  But  just  as 
he  thought  it  the  girl  looked  up,  and  then  he  saw  Avhere 
the  expression  lay.  It  Avas  in  those  remarkable  eyes.  Im¬ 
passive  as  her  face  Avas,  the  dark  eyes  Avere  alight  Avith 
life  and  a  sort  of  excitement  that  made  them  shine  glo¬ 
riously.  The  contrast  between  the  shining  eyes  and  the  im¬ 
passive  face  beneath  them  struck  him  as  so  extraordinary 
as  to  be  almost  uncanny:  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was 
doubtless  both  unusual  and  remarkable. 

“  You  have  had  a  wonderful  escape,  but  I  am  sorry  for 
the  bird,”  she  said  at  last. 

Why?”  asked  John. 

Because  we  were  great  friends.  I  Avas  the  only  person 
w.no  could  manage  him.” 

“Yes,”  put  in  Be.ssie,  “the  saA’age  brute  Avould  fohow 
her  about  like  a  dog.  It  Avas  just  the  oddest  thing  I  ever 
saw.  But  come  on;  we  must  begetting  home,  it’s  grow¬ 
ing  dark.  Mouti  ”  (medicine)— addi’essing  the  Kafir  in 
Zulu  —  "  lielp  Captain  Niel  on  to  his  horse.  Be  careful  that 
the  saddle  does  not  twist  round;  the  girths  may  be  loose.” 

Thus  adjured,  John,  Avith  the  help  of  the  Zulu,  clambered 
i'L>to  his  saddle,  an  example  that  the  lady  quickly  folloAved, 


10 


JESS. 


and  they  on.ie  more  set  off  through  the  gathering  darkness?. 
Presently  he  became  aware  that  they  were  passing  up  a 
drive  bordered  by  tali  blue-gums,  and  next  minute  the 
barking  of  a  large  dog  and  the  sudden  appearance  of 
lighted  windows  told  him  that  they  had  reached  the  house. 
At  the  door — or  ratlier,  opposite  to  it,  for  there  was  a 
veranda  iu  front — they  stopped  and  got  off  their  horses. 
As  they  did  so,  out  of  the  house  there  came  a  shout  of  wel¬ 
come,  and  presently  in  tlu^  doorway,  showing  out  clear 
against  the  light,  appeared  a  striking  and,  in  its  way, 
most  pleasant  hgure.  He — for  it  was  a  man — wms  very 
tall,  or,  rather,  ho  had  been  very  tall. 

Now  he  was  much  beut  witli  age  and  rheumatism.  Hig 
long  white  hair  hung  ^o^v  upon  his  neck,  and  fell  back 
from  a  prominent  brow.  The  top  of  the  iiead  w'as  quite 
bald,  like  the  tonsure  of  a  priest,  and  shone  and  glisteiied 
in  the  lamplight,  and  round  this  oasis  the  thin  white  locks 
foU  down.  The  face  was  sliriveled  like  the  snrface  of  a 
well-kept  apple,  and,  like  an  apple,  rosy  red  The  features 
were  aquiline  and  well  marked,  the  eyebrows  still  black 
and  very  bushy,  and  beneath  them  shone  a  pair  of  giay 
eyes,  as  keen  and  bright  as  hawks’.  But  for  all  its  sharp¬ 
ness,  there  was  nothing  unpleasant  or  fierce  about  the  face. 
On  the  contrary,  it  was  pervaded  by  a  reinai'kable  air  of 
good-nature  and  pleasant  shrewdness.  For  the  rest,  the 
man  was  dressed  in  rough  tweed  clothes,  tall  riding-boots, 
and  held  a  broad-brimmed  Boer  hunting-hat  in  his  hamd. 
Such  v/as  the  outer  man  of  old  Silas  Croft,  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  men  in  the  Transvaal,  as  John  Niel  first  saw 
him. 

“  Is  that  you.  Captain  Niel?”  roared  out  the  stentorian 
voice.  ”  The  natives  said  you  were  coming.  A  welcome 
to  you!  I  am  glad  to  see  you— very  glad.  Wh^^  what  is 
the  matter  with  you?”  he  went  on  as  the  Zulu  JVIouti  ran’ 
to  help  him  off  his  horse. 

“Matter,  Mr.  Croft?”  answered  John;  “why,  tlie  mat- 
tt:r  is  that  yonr  favorite  ostrich  has  nearly  killed  me  and 
your  niece  here,  and  that  I  have  killed  your  favonic  os¬ 
trich.” 

Then  followed  explanations  from  Bessie,  during  which 
he  was  helped  off  his  horse  and  into  the  house. 

“  it  serves  me  right,”  said  the  oil  man.  “  To  think  of  it 
now.  just  to  think  of  it!  Well,  Bessie,  my  love,  thank  God 
that  you  escaped — ay,  and  you  too.  Captain  Niel.  Hers, 
you  boys,  take  the  Scotch  cart  and  a  couple  of  oxen  and  go 
and  fetch  the  brute  home.  We'  may  as  well  liave  the 
feathers  off  him,  at  any  rate,  before  the  assvogcls  (vul¬ 
tures)  tear  him  to  bits.” 

After  he  had  washed  himself  and  tended  his  injuries 


JESS. 


n 


tnth  arnica  arui  vrator,  John  managed  to  get  the  prin.' 
cipal  sitting-  mom,  where  supper  was  waiting.  It  w  as  a  very 
pleasant  room,  furnished  in  European  style,  and  carpeted 
V/ith  nuxts  made  of  springbuck  skins.  In  the  corner  v  as  a 
piano,  and  by  it  a  book-case,  filled  with  the  works  of  stan¬ 
dard  authors,  the  property,  as  John  rightly  gnessed,  of 
Bessie'c  sister  Jess. 

Supper  went  off  ifieasautly  enough,  and  after  it  was  over 
the  two  girls  sang  and  played  whilst  The  men  smoked.' 
And  here  a  fresh  surprise  awaited  him,  for  after  Bessie, 
who  havi  now  apparently  almost  recovered  from  her  maul¬ 
ing.  had  played  a  piece  or  two  creditably  enough,  Jess, 
who  so  far  had  been  nearly  sileiit,  sat  down  to  the  piano. 
She  did  not  do  this  willingly,  indeed,  for  it  was  not  until 
her  patriarchal  uncle  had  insisted  in  his  ringing,  cheery 
voice  that  .she  should  let  Captain  Kiel  hear  hov/  she  could 
eing  iliat  she  consented.  But  at  ktst  slie  did  consent,  and 
then,  after  letting  her  fingers  stray  somewuat  aimlessly 
along  the  chords,  she  suddenly  broke  out  into  such  song  aa 
John  Niel  Ifhd  never  heai’d  before.  Her  voice,  beautiful 
as  it  was,  was  nor  what  is  known  as  a  cultivated  voice,  and 
it  was  a  German  song,  and  therefore  he  did  not  understand 
it.  but  there  was  no  need  of  words  to  translate  its  burden. 
I'assiori,  despairing,  yet  hoping  through  its  despair,  echoed 
ill  its  every  line,  and  lov'e,  unending  love,  hovered  over  the 
glorious  notes — nay,  descended  on  them  like  a  spirit,  and 
made  them  his.  Up!  up!  rang  lier  wild,  luvoet  voice,  thrill¬ 
ing  his  nerves  till  they  answered  to  llio  music  as  au  HColian 
harp  answers  to  the  winds.  On  v.'ent  tlie  song  with  a 
divine  svreep,  like  the  sweep  of  rushing  piniems;  higher, 
yet  higher  it  soared,  liftingup  :  tie  listener's  iieart  far  above 
the  world  on  the  trembling  wings  of  sound  -ay.  even 
liiglier.  till  tlie  music  hung  at  heaven’s  gate,  and  then  it 
fell,  swiftly  as  an  eagle  falls,  quiver<-d,  and  vva:i  d-cad. 

John  ga„ve  gasp,  and,  so  strongty  was  in?  moved,  .sunk 
baek  in  his  chair,  feeling  almost  faint  with  the  levulsion 
€1  fiieling  that  ensued  when  the  notes  h.ad  died  away.  _  He 
looked  up,  and  caught  Bes.'^io  watching  him  wilh  an  air  of 
curiosity  and  ainusenient.  Jess  was  si  ill  leaning  against 
the  ]uano,  and  gently  toucliing  the  notes,  over  wliich  her 
head  was  bent  low.  siiowhig  the  coils  of  cui'lnig  hair  which 
were  twisted  round  it  like  a  coronet. 

“’Well.  Captain  Niel,"  said  the  old  man,  waving  his  pipe 
in  her  direction,  “and  v  hat  do  you  say  to  my  singing- 
bird’s  music,  eh?  Isn’t  it.  enough  to  draw  the  heart  out  of 
a  man,  eh,  and  turn  his  marrow  to  water,  eh?’’ 

“I  never  heard  anylliing  quite  like  it,  '  he  answered 
simply,  “and  I  have  heard  most  singei’s.  It  is  beautiful* 


JESS. 

Certainly,  i  never  expected  to  hear  sucli  singing  in 
Transvaal.  ’  ’ 

She  turned  quickly,  and  he  observed  that,  though  he? 
eyes  were  alight  with  exciiement,  her  face  was  as  iinpa;’ 
«ive  as  ever. 

“  There  is  no  need  for  you  to  laugh  at  uie.  Captain  Nisi,  ■ 
she  said  quickly,  and  tlien,  with  an  abrupt  “  Good  night,  ’ 
left  the  room. 

The  old  man  smiled,  jerked  the  stem  of  his  pipe  over  hi^ 
shoulder  after  her,  and  wiiiked  in  a  way  that,  no  doubt, 
meant  umitterable  things,  but  which  did  not  convey  mncn 
to  his  astonished  guest,  who  sat  still  and  said  nothing. 
Then  Bessie  got  up  and  bacV*  him  good-night  iii  her  pleas¬ 
ant  voice,  and  with  housewifely  care  inquired  as  to 
whether  his  room  was  to  his  liking,  and  how  many  blank¬ 
ets  he  liked  upon  his  bed,  telling  him  that  if  he  found  the 
odor  of  the  moonfiovv'ers  that  grew  near  the  veranda  too 
strong,  he  had  better  shut  the  right  hand  window  and  open 
that  on  the  other  side  of  the  loom;  and  then  at  length, 
with  a  piquant  little  nod  of  her  golden  head,^she  went  off, 
looking,  he  thought  as  he  watched  her  retreating  figure, 
about  as  healthy,  graceful,  and  generally  satisfactor}*  a 
young  woman  as  a  man  could  wish  to  see. 

“Take  a  glass  of  grog,  Captain  Niel,”  said  the  old  man, 
pushing  the  square  bottle  toward  him,  “you'll  need 
after  the  mauling  that  brute  gave  you.  By  the  way,  I 
haven’t  thanked  you  enough  for  saving  my  Bessie!  But  f 
do  thank  you,  yea,  that  I  do.  I  must  tell  you  that  Bess’ ^ 
is  mv  favorite  niece.  Never  was  there  such  a  girl— neve  . 
Mo  ves  like  a  springbuck,  and  what  an  eye  and  form! 
Work,  too — she’ll  do  as  much  work  as  three.  There’s  n3 
nonsense  about  Bessie,  none  at  all.  She’s  not  a  fine  lady, 
for  all  her  fine  looks.’’ 

“  The  two  sisters  seem  very  different,”  said  John. 

“Ay,  you’re  right  there,”  said  the  old  man.  “You’i 
never  think  that  the  same  blood  ran  in  their  veins,  would 
you?  There’s  three  years  between  them,  that’s  one  thing. 
Bessie’s  the  youngest,  you  see — she’s  just  twenty,  and  Jess 
is  twenty-three.  Lord,  to  think  that  it  is  tw-enty -three 
years  since  that  girl  was  born!  And  theirs  was  a  queer 
story  too.” 

“Indeed?”  said  ins  listener,  interrogatively. 

“  Ay,”  he  went  on  absently,  knocking  out  nis  pipe, 
and  refilling  it  out  of  a  big  brown  jar  of  coarso-cut  Boe-. 
tobacco,  “I'll  tell  it  to  you  if  you  like;  you  are  going  tG 
live  in  the  house,  and  you  may  as  well  knew  it.  I  aiT?; 
sure.  Captain  Niel,  that  it  wall  go  no  further.  You  see  1 
was  born  in  England,  yes,  and  well  born  too,  I  come 
from  Cambiddgeshire — from  the  fat  fen-land  down  round 


JESS. 


la 

Ely.  My  father  was  a  clergyman.  'Well,  he  wasn’t  rich, 
and  when  I  was  twenty  he  gave  me  liis  l)les.sing,  thirty 
sovereigns  in  my  pocket,  aiai  my  pas.^agc  to  tlu?  Cape:  and 
I  shook  his  hand,  God  bless  liini.  and  u!l  I  canio.  and  hero 
in  the  old  colon5^  and  this  country  I  lai'-''  Ix'cmi  for  fifty 
years,  for  I  was  seventy  yestordny.  Well.  I’ll  tell  you 
more  about  that  another  time,  it’s  chout  the  girls  I'm 
speaking  now.  After  I  left  home- t  vanity  yc-nrs  after,  or 
hard  on  it— my  dear  old  father  marri('d  again,  a  youngish 
woman  with  some  money,  but  beneath  him  somewhat  in 
life,  and  by  her  he  had  one  son  and  then  di('d.  "Well,  it 
was  but  little  I  heard  of  ray  half-brothcj-.  except  tlani.  he 
had  turned  out  very  badly,  married,  and  taken  to  drink, 
till  one  night  some  twelve  years  ago.  when  a  si  range  t  hing 
happened.  I  was  sitting  here  in  this  very  room.  :\y,  in 
this  very  chair— for  this  part  of  the  house  was  up  iheu, 
though  the  wings  weren’t  built — and  smoking  my  pitie, 
and  listening  to  the  lashing  of  the  rain,  for  it  was  a  very 
foul  night,  when  suddenly  an  old  pointer  dog  1  had,  named 
Een,  gave  a  bark. 

“  ‘  Lie  down,  Ben,  it’s  only  the  Kafirs,”  said  I. 

‘•Just  then  I  thought  I  heard  a  faint  sort  of  rapping  at 
the  door,  and  Ben  barked  again,  so  I  got  up  and  opemMl  it, 
and  in  came  two  little  girls  wrapped  up  in  old  sli.awL  or 
some  such  gear.  Weil,  I  shut  the  door,  looking  out  first 
to  see  if  there  were  any  more  outside,  and  then  I  st -od  and 
stared  at  the  two  little  things  wdth  my  mouth  open. 
There  thej'"  stood,  hand  in  hand,  the  water  dripping  from 
both  of  them,  and  the  eldest  might  have  been  eleven,  and 
the  second  about  eight.  They  didn’t  sav  anytlung, 
but  the  eldest  turned  and  took  the  shawl  and  hat  off  the 
younger— that  was  Bessie — and  there  w^as  her  sweet  little 
face  and  her  golden  hair,  and  dainp  enough  both  of  them 
were,  and  she  put  her  thumb  iii  her  month,  and  stood  aiid 
looked  at  me  till  I  began  to  think  that  I  was  dreaming. 

•■‘Please,  sir,’  said  the  biggest,  at  last,  •is  tnis  IMr. 
Croft’s  house— Mr.  Croft — South  African  Republic  ?' 

‘‘‘Yes,  little  nitss,  this  is  his  house,  and  this  is  tlio 
South  African  Republic,  and  I  am  he.  And  now  wiio 
might  you  be,  my  dears?’  I  a;iswercd. 

“  •If  you  please,  sir,  we  are  ycur  nieces,  and  wo  have 
coiue  to  you  from  England.’ 

‘  •  Vv^'liat!’  I  holloaed,  startled  out  of  my  wits,  as  well  I 
might  be. 

'•  ‘Oh,  sir,’  says  the  poor  little  thing,  clasphig  her  th.iu, 
wet  liands,  ‘please  doiiu  send  us  away.  Be.ssi(‘  is  so  wet, 
and  cold  and  huiigr}'  too,  she  isn’t  fit  to  go  any  furti»»r.’ 

‘*  And  she  set  to  work  to  cry,  whereon  the  little  one  cried 
too,  from  fright  and  cold  and  sympathy. 


14 


JESS. 


“  Well,  of  course,  I  took  tliem  both  to  Ike  ore,  nod  set 
them  on  my  knees,  and  holloaed  for  Hebe,  the  old  Hoiten- 
tot  woman  wlio  did  my  cooking,  and  between  us  we  un¬ 
dressed  thcnn.  and  wrapped  them  up  in  some  old  clothes, 
and  fed  them  wii.h  soup  and  wine,  so  that  in  half  an  hour 
they  were  quite  happy  and  not  a  bit  frightened. 

“  '  And  now,  young  ladies,’  I  said,  ‘  come  and  give  me  a 
kiss,  both- of  yon,  atul  tell  mo  bow  you  came  here.' 

“  And  this  is  the  tale  they  told  mo— completed,  of  course, 
from  wliat  I  learnt  afterward — and  an  odd  one  it  is.  It 
seems  tinat  my  half-brother  married  a  Norfolk  lady — a 
sweet  young  tinng — and  treated  her  like  a  dog.  He  was  a 
drunken  rascal,  was  my  half-brother,  and  he  beat  his  poor 
wife  and  shamefully  neglected  her,  and  even  ill-treated  the 
hvo  lirtle  girls,  till  at  last  the  poor  woman,  weak  as  she 
was  from  suffering  and  ill-health,  could  bear  it  uo  longer, 
amd  formed  tiie  wild  idea  of  escaping  to  this  country  and 
throwing  herself  iTpon  my  protection.  It  will  show  how 
desperate  she  must  have  been.  She  scraped  together  and 
borrowed  some  money,  enough  to  pay  for  three  second-class 
passages  to  Natal  and  a  few  pounds  over,  and  one  day, 
when  her  brute  of  a  husband  was  away  on  the  drink  and 
gamble,  she  slipped  oji  board  a  sailing  ship  in  the  London 
Docks,  ai’.d  before  lie  knew  anything  about  it  they  were 
well  cut  to  sea.  But  it  was  her  last  effort,  poor,  dear  soul, 
and  the  excitement  of  it  finished  her.  Before  they  had 
been  ten  days  at  sea,  she  sank  and  died,  and  the  two  poor 
chiiiireu  wei’e  left  alone.  And  what  they  must  have  suf¬ 
fered.  or  rather  what  poor  Jess  must  have  salTered,  for  she 
was  old  enough  to  feel,  God  only  knows. 

‘‘  But  I  can  tell  you  tins,  she  has  never  got  over  the  shock 
to  this  hour.  It  has  left  its  mark  on  her,  sir.  But,  let 
people  say  what  they  will,  there  is  a  Power  that  looks 
after  the  helpless,  and  that  Powortook  those  poor,  homeless, 
Yve.ndering  cliildreu  under  its  wing.  The  captain  of  the  ves¬ 
sel  befriended  them,  iuid  whoa  at  last  they  got  to  Durban 
some  of  the  passengers  made  a  subscription,  and  got  an  old 
Boer,  who  was  coming  up  this  ivay  with  his  wife  to  the 
Transx'aal,  to  take  them  under  his  charge.  The  Boer  and 
his  vroinv  ir-rated  the  children  fairly  wadi,  but  they  did  not 
do  one  thine;  more  than  they  bargained  for.  At  the  turn 
froiu  the  Wkikkerstroorn  road,  that  you  came  along  to-day, 
they  put  the  children  down,  for  they  had  uo  luggage  with 
them,  and  told  them  that  if  they  went  along  "there  they 
would  come  to  Meiuhoer  Croft’s  house.  Tb.at  vras  in  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  they  were  till  eigiiO  o'clock 
getting  here,  poor  little  dears,  for  the  track  ''-as  f-'hitef 
then  than  it  i-;  i,o\v,  mnl  tin  y  Avnnden  d  off  into 
and  would  lia\  e  perished  there  iu  the  wet  and  cei..'  l.ad 


JESS. 


15 


chov  chanced  to  see  tlio  lights  of  the  hunse.  And  that 
Wiis  „o-.v  my  nieces  came  here,  Captain  Kiel.  And  iiere 
they  have  been  ever  since,  except  ior  a  couple  of  jccics 
wheii  J  sent  them  to  the  Cape  for  scliooling,,  and  a  lonely 
man  I  was  when  they  were  away.” 

“And  how  about  the  father?”  asked  John  NIgI,  deeply 
interested.  “Did  you  ever  hear  any  more  of  him?” 

“  Hear  of  him.,  the  villain  !”  almost  shouted  the  old  man.,, 
jumping  up  in  wrath.  “Ay,  d— uhim,  I  heard  of  him. 
What  do  you  think?  The  two  chicks  had  been  with  me 
some  eighteen  months,  long  enough  for  mo  to  learn  to  love 
them  with  ah  my  heart,  when  one  fine  morning,  as'  I  was 
seeing  about  tlie  new  kraal  wall.  I  see  a  fellow  come  riding 
lip  on  an  old  raw-boned  gray  horse.  Up  he  coinos  to  me, 
and  as  he  came  I  looked  at  liirn,  and  said  to  myself;  ‘  You 
are  a  drunkard,  you  are,  and  a  rogue,  it's  written  on  your 
facet,  and,  what’s  more,  I  know  your  face.’  You  see  I  did 
not  guess  that  it  was  a  sou  of  my  own  father's  that  I  waa 
looking  at.  Ho vr  should  I? 

“  ‘  Is  your  name  Croft?’  he  said. 

“  ‘  Aj,'  I  answered. 

“  ‘  So  is  mine,  ’  he  went  on  wdth  a  sort  of  drunken  leer 
*I’m  your  brother.’ 

“  ‘  Are  you?’  I  said,  beginning  to  get  my  back  up,  for  1 
guessed  what  his  game  was,  *  and  wdiat  may  yon  be  after? 
I  tell  you  at  once,  and  to  your  face,  that  if  you  are  my 
brother  jmu  are  a  blackguard,  and  I  don’t  want  to  know 
you  or  have  anything  to  do  with  you  ;  and  if  you  are 
not,  I  beg  your  pardon  for  coupling  you  wifi_  such  a 
scoundrel.’ 

“‘Oh,  that’s  your  time,  is  it?’  he  said,  with  a  sneer. 
‘Well  now,  my  dear  brother  Silas,  I  Avant  my  children. 
They  have  got  a  little  half-brother  at  home — for  I  haA  O 
married  again,  Silas — avIio  is  a.nxious  to  have  them  to  play 
with,  SO  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  hand  them  over,  I’ll 
take  them  away  at  once.’ 

■■  ‘Y’’ou'lt  take  them  away,  will  you?’  said  I,  all  of  a 
tremble  with  rage  and  fear. 

“  ■  Y"es,  Silas,  I  will.  They  are  mine  by  law,  and  I  ani 
not  going  to  breed  children  for  you  to  have  the  comfort  of 
their  society.  lAe  taken  advice,  Silas,  and  that’s  sound 
latv, '  and  he  leered  at  me  again. 

“I  stood  and  looked  at  t’nat  man,  and  thought  of  how  ho 
had  treated  those  poor  children  and  their  young  mother, 
and  my  blood  boiled,  and  I  grew  mad.  Without  another 
word.  I  jumped  over  the  lialf -finished  wall,  and  caught 
him  by^  the  leg  (for  I  was  a  strong  man  ten  years  ago)  and 

rked  him  off  the  horse.  As  he  came  down  he  dropped 


.e  siambock  from  his  hand,  and  I  caught  hold  of  it,  and. 


16 


JESS. 


then  and  there  gave  him  the  soundest  hiding  a  man  e^er 
had.  Lord,  how  ho  did  holloa!  When  I  was  tired  I  let 
him  get  lip. 

••  ‘  Now.’  I  said.  ‘  be  ofi  with  vou;  and  if  you  come  back 
here,  .Ill  bid  the  Kafirs  hunt  von  bac.k  ‘o  Natal  with  tJieir 
sticks.  This  is  the  Soutli  African  Republic,  and  we  don't, 
^are  overmuch  about  law  here.'  AV.bicu  we  didn’t  iiituoso 
davs. 

“  ‘  All  right,  t^ilas,’  ho  said,  ‘  all  right ;  you  shall  pay  for> 
this.  I'll  have  those  children,  and,  for  your  sake,_I’Il 
make  tlieir  life  a  hell — you  mark  my  words — South  African 
Republic  or  no  South  African  Republic.  I’ve  got  the  law 
on  mv  ‘?ide.’ 

“Off  ho  rode,  cursing  and  swearing,  and  I  flung  his 
sjandiock  after  him.  And  it  was  the  first  and  last  time 
that  I  saw  my  brother,” 

“  What  became  of  him?’’  asked  John  Niel. 

“riltell  vou.  just  to  show  yon  again  that  there  is  a 
Power  that  keeps  such  men  in  its  eye.  He  got  back  to 
Newcastle  that  night,  and  went  about  the  canteen  thera 
abiieiug  ra3.  and  getting  drunker  and  drunker,  till  at  last 
the  cameen  keeper  sent  for  his  boys  to  turn  him  out. 
Well,  the  hoys  were  rough,  as  Kafirs  are  apt  to  be  with  a 
drunken  w  liite  man,  and  he  struggled  and  fought,  and  in 
the  middle  of  it  the  blood  began  to  run  from  his  mouth, 
ainl  he  dropped  down  dead  of  a  broken  blood-vessel,  and 
ther.'  was  an  end  of  him.  That  is  the  story  of  the  two 
girls.  Captain  Niel,  and  now  I  am  off  to  bed.  To-morrov/ 
I’ll  show  you  round  the  farm,  and  we  will  have  a  talk 
aboMf  bu.siness.  Good-night  to  you.  Captain  Niel.  Good- 
nigh:.!'’ 


CHAPTER  III. 

MR.  PRANK  MULLER. 

John  Niel  woke  early  the  next  morning,  feeling  as  sore 
an<l  stiff  as  though  he  had  been  well  beaten  and  then 
St r;'!  oped  up  tight  in  horse-girths.  He  made  shift,  how¬ 
ever.  to  dress  himself,  and  tlien,  with  the  help  of  a  stick, 
limped  through  the  French  windows  that  opened  from  his 
room  ou  to  th.e  veranda  and  surveyed  the  scene  before 
him  it  was  a  delightful  s]30t.  At  the  back  of  the  house 
V  ;v.-;  tlie  steep  bowlder-strewn  face  of  the  flat-topped  hill 
tliai  curved  round  on  each  side,  embosoming  a  great  Blo]ie 
of  green,  in  the  lap  of  which  the  house  was  placed.  The 
house  itself  was  solidly  built  of  brown  stone,  and,  with  the 
exception  of  the  wagon-shed  and  otb.er  outhouses,  which 
weie  roofed  witli  galvanized  iron,  that  shone  and  gli.stened 
in  the  rays  of  '  ’  morning  sun  in  a  way  that  woul'.l  hava 


JESS, 


1.7 


made  an  eagle  blinlr,  was  covered  with  rich  brown  thntch. 
All  along  its  front  ran  a  wide  veranda,  up  the  trellis- work 
of  which  green  vines  and  blooming  creepers  trailed  pleas¬ 
antly,  and  beyond  was  the  broad  carriage- drive  of  red  soil, 
bordered  with  bushy  orange-trees  laden  with  odiorous  flow¬ 
ers  and  green  and  golden  fruit.  On  the  further  side  of  tha 
orange-trees  were  the  gardens,  fenced  in  with  low  walls  of 
rough  stone,  and  the  orchard  full  of  standard  fruit-trees, 
and  beyond  these  again  the  oxen  and  ostrich  kraals,  the 
latter  full  of  long-necked  birds.  To  the  right  of  the  b.ouse 
grew  thriving  plantations  of  blue-gum  and  black  Avattle, 
and  to  the  left  was  a  broad  stretch  of  cultivated  lands, 
lying  so  that  they  could  be  irrigated  for  winter  crops  by- 
means  of  water  led  from  the  great  spring,  that  gushed 
from  the  mountain-side  high  above  the  house  and  gave  its 
name  of  Mooifontein  to  the  place. 

All  these  and  many  more  things  John  Niel  saw  as  he 
looked  out  from  the  veranda  at  Mooifontein,  but  for  the 
moiYient,  at  any  rate,  they  were  lost  in  the  wild  and  won¬ 
derful  beauty  of  the  panorama  that  rolled  away  for  miles 
and  miles  at  his  feet,  till  it  was  ended  by  the  mighty 
tange  of  the  Drakensberg  to  the  left,  tipped  liereand  there 
with  snow,  and  by  the  dim  and  vast  horizon  of  the  swell¬ 
ing  Transvaal  plains  to  the  right  and  far  iti  front  of  him. 
It  was  a  beautiful  sight,  and  one  to  make  the  blood  run  in 
a  man’s  veins,  and  his  heart  beat  happily  because  he  was 
alive  to  see  it.  Mile  upon  mile  of  grass-clothed  veldt  be¬ 
neath,  bending  and  rippling  like  a  corn  field  in  the  quick 
breath  of  the  morning,  space  upon  space  of  deep-blue  sky 
overhead,  with  ne’er  a  cloud  to  dim  it,  and  the  swift  rush 
of  tlie  wind  between.  Then  to  the  left  there,  impressive 
to  look  on  and  conducive  to  solemn  thoughts,  the  mount¬ 
ains  rear  their  crests  against  the  skj",  and.  crowned  with 
the  gathered  snows  of  the  centuries  whose  monuments 
they  are.  from  mon  to  aeon,  gaze  majestically  out  over  the 
wide  plains  and  the  ephemeral  ant-like  races  that  tread 
them,  and  while  they  endure  think  themselves  the  masters 
cf  their  little  world.  And  over  all — mountain,  plain,  and 
flashing  stream— the  glorious  light  of  the  African  sun  and 
the  Spirit  of  Life,  moving  now  as  it  once  moved  upon  the 
-darkling  waters.  • 

John  stood  and  gazed  at  t  he  untamed  beauty  of  the  sceiie, 
ill  his  mind  comparing  it  to  many  cultivated  views  that  he 
had  known,  and  coming  to  the  conclusion  tliat,  however 
desirable  the  presence  of  civilized  man  might  be  in  the 
world,  it  could  not  be  said  that  his  operations  reall}"  .added 
to  its  beauty.  For  the  old  line,  “  Nature  unadorned 
adorned  the  most.”  still  remains  time  in  more  senses  than. 
QDG.  Presently  his  reflections  were  inM,'rrupted  by  ih® 


JESS. 


fetep  of  Silas  Croft,  which,  notwithstanding  his  age  and 
bent  frame,  still  rang  firm  enough— and  he  turned  to  greet 
him. 

“Well,  Captain  Niel,”  said  the  old  man,  “up  already! 
It  looks  well  if  you  meaai  to  take  to  farming.  Yes,  it’s  a 
pretty  view,  and  a  pretty  place,  too.  Well,  I  made  it. 
Twenty-five  years  ago  I  rode  up  here  and  saw  this  spot. 
Look,  3*00  see  that  rock  there  behind  the  house,  I  slept 
imder  it  and  Avoke  at  sunrise  and  looked  out  at  this  beauti¬ 
ful  vieAV  and  at  the  great  veldt  (it  was  all  alive  with  game 
then),  and  I  said  to  myself,  ‘  Silas,  for  five-and-twenty  years 
have  3’ou  Avandered  a.bout  this  great  country,_and  now  you 
are  getting  tired  of  it;  you’ve  never  seen  a  fairer  spot  than 
this,  ora  healthier;  now  be  a  wise  man  and  stop  here.’ 
And  so  I  did.  I  bought  the  three  thousand  morgen  (six 
thousand  acres),  more  or  less,  for  ten  pounds  down  and  a 
case  of  gin,  and  I  set  to  work  to  make  this  place,  and  you 
see  I  have  made  it.  Ay,  it  has  grown  under  my  hand, 
eA’er}^  stone  and  tree  of  it,  and  you  knoAv  w*hat  that  means 
in  a  ncAv  country.  But  one  Avay  and  another  I  have  done 
it.  and  now  I  haA^e  got  too  old  to  manage  it,  and  that’s  hoAV 
I  co.me  to  giA-e  out  that  I  wanted  a  partner,  as  old  Snow 
told  you  down  in  Durban. 

“You  see,  I  told  Snow  it  must  be  a  gentleman;  I  don’t 
care  much  about  the  money.  I’ll  take  a  thousand  for  a 
third  share  if  I  can  get  a  gentleman— none  of  your  Boers 
or  mean  whites  for  me.  I  tell  you  I  have  had  enough  of 
Boers  and  their  ways;  the  best  day  of  my  life  Avas  AAdien 
old  Shepstono  ran  up  the  Union  Jack  there  in  Pretoria  and 
I  could  call  myself  an  Englishman  again.  Lord!  and  to 
think  that  there  are  men  aaTio  are  subject  to  the  queen  and 
want  to  be  subjects  of  a  Republic  again— mad!  Captain 
Niel,  I  tell  you,  quite  mad!  HoAvever,  there’s  an  end  of  it 
all  now.  You  know  Avhat  Sir  Grarnet  Wolseley^  told  them 
in  the  name  or  the  queen  up  at  the  Vaal  River,  that  this 
counti\y  would  remain  English  till  the  sun  stood  still  in 
the  Iie.a'/ens  and  the  Avaters  of  the  Vaal  ran  backAvard. 
That’s  good  enough  for  me,  for,  as  I  tell  these  grumbling 
fellows  Avho  AViuit  the  land  back  now  that  Ave_  haA^e  paid 
their  debts  and  dehuited  their  enemies,  no  English  GoA*ern- 
ment  goes  back  on  its  Avord,  or  breaks  engagements 
solemnly  entered  into  b.y  its  representatives.  We  leave 
that  sort  of  thing  to  foreigners.  No,  no.  Captain  Niel,  I 
AA’ould  not  ask  3mu  to  take  a  sliare  in  this  place, if  I  Avasn’t 
sure  tliat  it  would  remain  under  the  British  flag.  But  we 
will  talk  of  all  this  another  time,  and  iioav  come  in  to 
breakfast.” 

After  breakfast,  os  John  was  far  too  lame  to  go  about 
the  farm,  the  fnir  Bessie  suggested  that  he  si  n”: '  uome 


JESS. 


and  help  her  to  wash  a  batch  of  ostrich  feathers,  and,  ac¬ 
cordingly,  off  he  went.  The  locus  operandi  v/as  in  a  space 
of  grass  in  the  rear  of  a  little  clump  of  “  naatche  ”  orange- 
trees,  of  which  the  fruit  is  like  that  of  the  Maltese  orange, 
only  larger.  Here  were  placed  an  ordinary  washing-tub 
half-filled  with  warm  waater  and  a  tin  bath  full  of  cold. 
The  osti’ich  feathers,  many  of  which  were  completely 
coated  with  red  dirt,  were  plunged  first  into  the  ^val'nl 
water,  where  John  Niel  scrubbed  them  with  soap,  and  then 
transferred  to  the  tin  bath,  where  Bessie  rinsed  them  and 
then  laid  them  on  a  sheet  in  the  sun  to  dry.  The  morning 
was  very  pleasant,  a,n'd  John  soon  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  there  are  many  more  disagreeable  ocenpations  in  the 
world  than  the  washing  of  ostrich  feathers  with  a  lovely 
girl  to  help  you — for  there  was  310  doubt  but  tliat  she  was 
lovoly,  a  very  type  of  happy,  Iiealthy  womanhood— as  she 
sat'  there  opposite  to  him  on  the  little  stool,  lier  sleeves 
rolled  up  almost  to  the  shoiilder,  showing  a  prdr  of  arms 
that  would  not  have  disgi’aced  a  statue  of  Venus,  and 
laughed  and  chatted  away  as  she  washed  the  feathers. 
Now,  John  Niel  was  not  a  susceptible  man ;  he  had  gone 
through  the  fire  years  before  and  burnt  his  fingers  like 
many  anotlier  confiding  youngster,  but,  all  the  same,  he 
did  wonder  as  he  sat  there  and  watched  tliis  f;iir  girl,  who 
somehow  reminded  him  of  a  rich  rose-bud  bursting  into 
bkxim,  how  long  it  would  be  possible  to  live  in  the  same 
house  with  her  without  falling  under  the  spell  of  her  charm 
and  beauty.  And  then  he  began  to  think  of  Jess,  and  Aviiat- 
a  strange  contrast  the  two  v/ere. 

“  Where  is  your  sister?”  he  asked  presently. 

“Jess?  oh.  i  think  that  slie  lias  gone  to  the  Lion  Kloof, 
reading  or  sketching,  I  don’t  know  which.  You  see  in  this 
establishment  1  represent  labor  and  Jess  represents  intoi- 
lect,”  and  she  nodded  her  head pi’ct Lily  at  him,  and  added, 
“Thei'e  is  a  mistake  somewhere,  slm  got  all  the  brains.” 

“All,”  said  John,  quietly,  arid  looking  up  at  hoi’,  “I 
don't  think  that  you  are  eutitied  to  complain  of  the  way 
that  nature  has  treated  you.” 

She  blushed  a  little,  more  n,t  the  tone  of  his  voice  than 
the  words,  and  went  on  hastily,  “  Jt^ss  is  the  dt'arest,  best, 
and  cleverest  woman  in  the  whole  world —there,  1  believe 
that  she  ha,s  only  one  fault,  and  that  is  that  s)ie  thiiiks  too 
m3ich  about  me.  Uticle  told  me  thiat  lie  had  told  >'Ou  how 
wo  came  here  first  when  1  was  eiglit  years  oid.  Well,  I 
remember  that  when  we  lost  our  way  on  the  veldt  tliat 
night,  and  it  rained  so  and  was  so  cold.  Jess  took  off  her 
own  shawl  and  wrapped  it  round  me  over  my  own.  Well, 
it  has  been  just  like  that  with  her-alumy  I  am  always 
to  have  the  shawl — everything  is  to  '■  w 


JESS, 


there,  that  is  Jess  all  over;  she  is  very  cold,  cold  as  a  stone, 
I  sometimes  think,  but  when  she  does  care  for  anybody  li 
is  enoiigh  to  fi’ighten  one.  I  don’t  know  a  great  number 
of  women,  but  somehow  I  don’t  think  there  can  be  many 
in  the  wundd  like  Jess.  She  is  too  good  for  this  wild  place, 
she  ought  to  go  away  to  England  and  write  books  and  be' 
come  a  faiiious  woman,  only,”  she  added,  reflectively,  ‘‘I 
am  afraid  tliat  Jess’  books  would  all  be  sad  ones.” 

Just  then  Bessie  stopped  and  suddenly  changed  color, 
the  bunch  of  lank,  wet  feathers  she  held  in  her  hand 
dropphig  from  it  with  a  little  splash  back  into  the  bath. 
Following  her  glance,  John  looked  down  the  avenue  of 
blue-gum  ti-ees  and  perceived  a  big  man  with  a  broad  hat 
and  mounted  on  a  splendid  black  horse,  cantering  leisurely 
toward  the  house. 

”  Who  is  that.  Miss  Croft?”  he  asked. 

”  It  is  a  man  I  don’t  like.”  she  said,  with  a  little  stamp 
of  her  foot.  ”  His  name  is  Frank  Muller,  and  he  is  half  a 
Boer  and  half  an  Englishman.  He  is  very  rich,  and  very 
clever,  and  owns  all  the  land  round  this  place,  so  uncle  has 
to  be  civil  to  him,  though  he  does  not  like  him  either.  I 
■wonder  what  he  wants  now.” 

On  came  the  l\orse,  and  John  thought  that  its  rider  vcas 
going  to  pass  without  seeing  them,  when  suddenly  the 
movement  of  Bessie’s  dress  between  the  “naatche”  trees 
caught  his  eye,  and  he  pulled  up  and  looked  round.  He 
was  a  large  and  exceedingly  handsome  man,  apparently 
about  forty  years  old,  with  clear-cut  features,  cold,  light- 
blue  ej’^cs,  and  a  remarkable  golden  beard  that  hung  right 
down  ov,^r  his  chest.  For  a  Boer  he  was  rather  smartly 
dressed,  in  English  made  tweed  clothes,  and  tall  riding- 
boots. 

”  Ah.  Miss  Bessie,”  he  called  out  in  English,  ‘‘there  you 
are,  with  your  pretty  arms  all  bare.  I’m  in  luck  to  come 
just  in  time  to  see  them.  Shall  I  come  and  help  you  to 
wash  the  feathers?  Only  say  the  word,  now - ” 

Just  then  he  caught  sight  of  John  Niel  and  checked  him¬ 
self. 

“I  have  come  to  look  for  a  black  ox,  branded  with  a 
heart  and  a  "  W  ”  inside  of  the  heart.  Do  you  know  if 
your  uncle  has  seen  it  on  the  place  anywhere?” 

” No,  Meinheer  Muller,”  replied  Bessie,  coldly,  ‘‘but  he 
is  down  there.”  pointiiig  at  a  kraal  on  the  plain  some  half- 
, mile  away,  “if  you  want  to  go  and  ask  about  it.” 

"Mr.  Muller.”  said  he,  by  way  of  correction,  and  with  a 
curious  contraction  of  the  brow.  “  ‘  Meinheer  ’  is  all  very 
well  for  the  Boers,  but  we  are  all  Englishmen  now.  Well, 
the  ox  can  wait.  With  your  permission,  I’ll  stop  here  till 
Croft  [Uncle  Croft]  comes  back,”  and,  without 


JESS. 


21 


«n(?r  ado,  he  jumped  off  his  horse  and,  slipping  the  reins 
over  its  head  as  an  indication  to  it  to  stand  still,  advanced 
toward  Bessie  with  outstretched  hands.  As  he  did  so  the 
young  lady  plunged  both  her  arms  up  to  the  elbow  in  the 
bath,  and  it  struck  John,  who  wa,s  observing  the  whole 
scene,  that  she  did  this  in  order  to  avoid  the  necessity  of 
shaking  hands  with  her  stalwart  visitor. 

‘‘Sorry  my  hands  are  wet,”  she  said,  giving  him  a  cold 
little  nod.  ‘‘Let  me  introduce  you,  Mr.”  (with  emphasis) 
“  Frank  Muller — Captain  Niel— who  has  come  to  help  my 
uncle  with  the  place.” 

John  stretched  out  his  hand  and  Muller  shook  it. 

“Captain,”  he  said,  interrogatively— “ a  ship  captain,  I 
suppose?” 

“  No,”  said  John,  “  a  captain  of  the  English  army.” 

“Oh,  a  ‘  rooibaatje  ’  (red  jacket).  Well,  I  don’t  wonder 
at  your  taking  to  farming  after  the  Zulu  war.” 

“I  don’t  quite  understand  you,”  said  John,  rather 
coldly. 

“  Oh,  no  offense,  captain,  no  offense.  I  only  meant  that 
you  rooibaatjes  did  not  come  very  well  out  of  the  war.  I 
was  there  with  Piet  Uys,  and  it  was  a  sight,  I  can  tell  you. 
A  Zulu  had  only  to  show  himself  at  night  and  one  would 
gee  yotir  regiments  ‘  skreck  ’  (stampede)  like  a  span  of 
oxen  when  they  wind  a  lion.  And  then  they’d  fire — ah, 
they  did  fire — anyhow,  anywhere,  but  mostly  at  the  clouds, 
there  was  no  stopping  them;  and  so,  you  see,  I  thought 
that  you  would  like  to  turn  your  sword  into  a  plowshare, 
as  the  Bible  says— but  no  offense,  I’m  sine — no  offense.” 

All  this  while  John  Niel,  being  English  to  his  backbone, 
and  cherishing  the  reputation  of  his  profession  almost  as 
dearly  as  his  own  honor,  was  boiling  with  inward  wrath, 
which  Avas  all  the  fiei’cer  because  he  knew  that  there  ivas 
some  truth  in  the  Boer's  insults.  He  had  the  sense,  how¬ 
ever,  to  keep  his  temper — outwardly,  at  any  rate. 

“I  was  not  in  the  Zulu  war,  Mr.  Muller.”  he  said,  and 
just  then  old  Silas  Croft  came  riding  up,  and  the  conversa¬ 
tion  dropped. 

Mr.  Frank  Muller  stopped  to  dinner  and  far  on  into  the 
afternoon.  His  lost  ox  seemed  to  have  entirely  slipped  his 
memory.  There  he  sat  close  to  the  fair  Bessie,  .smoking 
and  drinking  gin-and  water,  and  talking  with  great  volu¬ 
bility  in  English  sprinkled  with  Boer-Dutch  terms  that 
John  Niel  did  not  understand,  and  ga/Jng  at  the  young 
lady  in  a  manner  which  John  somehoiv  found  unpleasant. 
Of  course  it  was  no  affair  of  his,  and  he  had  no  interest  in 
the  matter,  but  for  all  that  he  found  the  remarkable- look¬ 
ing  Biachn.-a’:  exceedingly  disagreeable.  At  last,  indeed, 
be  could  it  no  longer,  and  hobbled  out  for  a,  littl© 


S2 


JESS. 


walk  with  Jess,  who,  in  her  abrupt  way,  offered  to  show 
him  the  garden. 

“You  don’t  like  that  man?”  she  said  to  him,  as  they 
elowly  went  down  the  slope  in  tront  of  the  house. 

“  No:  do  you?’’ 

“I  think,”  replied  Jess,  slowly  and  with  much  empliasis, 
“  that  he  is  the  most  odious  man  that  I  ever  saw  and  the 
most  curious;”  aiid  then  she  relapsed  into  silence,  only 
broken  now  and  again  by  an  occasional  remark  about  the 
flowers  and  trees. 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  when  they  arrived  again  at  the 
top  of  the  slope,  Mr.  Muller  was  just  riding  off  down  the 
avenue  of  blue-gums.  By  the  veranda  stood  a  Hottentot 
named  Jantje,  who  ha4  been  holding  the  Dutchman’s 
horse.  He  was  a  curious,  wizened  up  little  fellow,  dressed 
in  rags,  and  with  hair  like  the  worn  tags  of  a  black  woolen 
carpet.  His  age  might  have  been  anything  betw'een 
twenty-five  and  sixty ;  it  was  in^possible  to  form  any 
opinion  on  the  point.  Just  now,  however,  his  yellow 
monkey  face  was  coavuised  wdth  an  expression  of  intense 
malignity,  and  he  was  standing  there  in  the  sunshii'.e  curs¬ 
ing  rapidly  and  beneath  his  breath  in  Dutch,  and  shakhig 
his  fist  after  the  form  of  the  retreating  Boer--a  very  epitome 
of  impoteirt,  overmastering  passion. 

“  What  is  he  doing?’  asked  John. 

Jess  laughed.  “Jantje  does  not  like  Frank  Muller  any 
more  than  I  do,  but  I  don't  know  why.  hie  wdll  never  tell 
me.” 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BESSIE  IS  ASKED  IN  MARRIAGE. 

In  due  course  John  Niel  got  over  his  sprained  ankle  ajid 
the  other  injuries  inflicted  on  him  by  the  infuriated  cock 
ostrich  (it  is,  by  the  way,  a  humiliating  thing  to  be 
knocked  out  of  time  by  a  feathered  fowl),  aiid  set  to  Avork  to 
learn  the  routine  of  farm  life.  He  did  not  find  this  a  dis¬ 
agreeable  task,  especially  Avhon  he  had  so  fair  an  instruct¬ 
ress  as  Bessie,  v/ho  knew  all  about  it,  to  show  him  the  way 
in  which  he  should  go.  Nal.urully  of  an  energetic  and 
hard-working  temperament,  he  very  soon  got  more  or  leas 
into  the  sw  ing  of  the  thing,  and  at  the  end  of  six  weeks 
began  to  talk  quite  learnedly  of  cattle  and  ostriches  and 
sweet  and  sour  veldt.  About  once  a  w’eelc  or  so  Bessie  used 
to  put  him  through  a  regular  examination  as  to  his  prog¬ 
ress;  also  she  gave  liirn  ie;-:.sons  iu  Dutch  and  Ziulu,  both 
of  which  tongues  she  spo'Kc  to  perfection;  so  it  w’-ffl  be  seen 
that  he  did  not  lack  for  pleaeniji  and  profitable  employ- 
Oient.  Another  thing  was  that  he  grew  muc'e  ttacjiedt® 


JESS. 


§3 


old  Silas  Croft.  The  old  gentleman,  with  his  nandsome, 
honest  face,  his  large  and  varied  stock  of  experience,  and 
his  sturdy  English  character,  made  a  great  impression  on 
his  mind.  He  had  never  met  a  man  quite  like  him  before. 
Kor  was  the  liking  unreciprocated,  for  his  host  took  a 
wonderful  fancy  to  John  Niel.  “  You  see,  ray  dear,  ”  he 
explained  to  his  niece  Bessie,  “he’s  quiet,  and  he  doesn’t 
know  much  about  farming,  but  he’s  willing  to  leam,  and 
he’s  such  a  gentleman.  Now,  where  one  has  Kafirs  to  deal 
with,  as  on  a  place  like  this,  you  must  have  a  gentleman. 
Your  mean  white  will  never  get  anything  out  of  a  Kafir; 
tliat’s  why  the  Boers  kill  them  and  flog  them,  because 
they  can’t  get  anything  out  of  them  without.  But  you  see 
Captain  Niel  gets  on  well  enough  with  them.  I  think  he’ll 
do,  my  dear,  I  think  he’ll  do,”  and  Bessie  quite  agreed 
with  him.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  after  this  six 
weeks’  trial  the  bargain  was  finally  struck,  and  John  paid 
over  his  thousand  pounds  and  took  a  third  interest  in 
Mooifontein. 

Now,  it  is  not  possible,  in  a  general  way,  for  a  youngish 
man  like  John  Niel  to  live  in  the  same  house  wfith  a  young 
and  lovely  woman  like' Bessie  Croft  without  running  more 
or  less  lisk  of  entanglement.  More  especially  is  this  so 
v/here  the  two  people  have  little  or  no  outside  society  or 
distraction  to  divert  the  attention  from  each  other.  Not 
that  there  was  as*  yet,  at  any  rate,  the  slightest  hint  of  af¬ 
fection  between  them.  Only  they  liked  one  another  very 
much,  and  found  it  ifieasant  to  be  a  good  deal  together. 
In  s!iort.  thej'’  were  walking  along  that  easy,  winding  road 
that  leads  to  the  mountain  paths  of  love.  It  is  a  very 
broad  road,  like  another  road  that  runs  elsewhere,  and, 
iiiso  like  this  last,  it  has  a  w-ide  gate.  Sometimes,  too,  it 
.leads  t  o  destruction.  But  for  all  that  it  is  a  most  agreeable 
one  to  follow  hand-in-hand,  vunding  as  it  does  through  the 
pleasant  meadows  of  companionship.  The  view  is  rather 
limited,  it  is  true,  and  homelike — full  of  familiar  thiu^. 
Tiiere  stand  the  kine,  knee-deep  in  the  grass:  there  runs 
the  water;  and  there  grows  the  corn.  Also,  one  can  stop 
if  one  likes.  By  and  by  it  grov.-s  different.  By  and  by, 
when  (he  travelers  tread  (lie  Inughts  of  passion,  precipices 
will  y.awn  and  torrents  rush,  lightsiiiigs  will  fall  and  storms 
will  bliml ;  aud  who  crni  kn.ow  t!i,at  tliey  will  attain  at  last 
to  ilint  fnr-Oif  peak,  crowned  with  the  glory  of  a  ]>erfect 
peac'e  which  men  call  happitie.s.s?  'j’liero  are  those  wdio  say 
ii  never  can  be  reached,  and  that  the  halo  wlnmh  rasts 
upon  its  slopes  ii  no  eartlily  light,  but  mlh  'r  as  v  w  -re,  a 
promise  a.n.d  a  beacon— a  glow  reflected  wiionce  we  knew 
laor,  .mnl  lying  o-!i  this  alien  earth  as  the  sun'--  li  du  lies  on 
the  derui  bosom  (jf  the  moon.  Some  say,  ana,: n  iiigt  they 


34 


JESS. 


have  climbed  its  topmost  pinnacle  and  tasted  of  the  fresh 
breath  of  heaven  that  sweeps  around  its  heights —ay,  and 
heard  the  quiring  of  immortal  harps  and  the  swan-like 
sigh  of  angels’  wings;  and  then,  behold!  a  mist  has  fallen 
upon  ihein,  and  they  ha'^'e  wandered  in  it,  and  when  it 
cleared  they  were  on  the  mountain  paths  again,  and  the 
peak  was  far  away.  And  a  few  there  are  who  tell  us  that 
they  live  there  always,  listening  to  the  voice  of  God;  but 
these  are  old  and  woni  with  journeying — men  and  women 
who  have  outlived  passions  and  ambitions  and  the  fire 
heats  of  love,  and  wdio  now.  girt  about  wuth  memories, 
stand  face  to  face  with  the  sphinx  Eternity. 

But  John  Niel  was  no  chicken,  nor  very  likely  to  fall  in 
love  with  the  first  pretty  face  he  met.  He  had  once, 
years  ago,  gone  through  that  melancholy  stage,  and  there, 
he  thought,  was  an  end  of  it.  Another  thing  was  that  if 
Bessie  attracted  him,  so  did  Jess  in  a  different  way.  Be¬ 
fore  he  had  been  a  week  in  the  house  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  Jess  was  the  strangest  woman  he  had  ever 
met,  and  in  her  own  way  one  of  the  most  attractive.  Her 
very  impassiveness  addt^  to  her  charm;  for  who  is  there 
in  this  world  who  does  not  like  to  learn  a  secret?  To  him 
Jess  was  a  riddle  of  which  he  did  not  know  the  key.  That 
jhe  -was  clever  and  well-informed  he  soon  discovered  from 
her  rare  remarks ;  that  she  could  sing  like  an  angel  he  also 
knew  ;  but  what  was  the  main-spring  of  her  mind— round 
what  axis  did  it  revolve — that  \vas  what  puzzled  him. 
Clearly  enough  it  wms  not  like  most  women’s,  least  of  all 
like  happy,  healthy,  plain-sailing  Bessie.  So  curious  did  he 
become  to  fathom  these  mysteries  that  he  took  every  op¬ 
portunity'  to  associate  with  her,  and  would  even,  when  he 
had  time,  go  out  with  her  on  her  sketching,  or  rather 
flower-painting,  expeditions.  On  these  occasions  she  would 
sometimes  begin  to  talk,  but  it  was  always  about  books,  or 
England,  or  some  intellectual  question.  She  never  spoke 
of  herself. 

Yet  it  soon  became  evident  to  John  that  she  liked  his 
sooietyg  and  missed  him  when  he  did  not  come.  It  never 
occurred  to  him  what  a  boon  it  was  to  o.  girl  of  consider¬ 
able  intellectual  attainments,  and  still  greater  intellectual 
capacities  and  aspirarions,  to  be  thrown  for  the  first  time 
into  the  society  of  a  cultivated  and  intelligent  gentleman. 
John  Niel  was  no  empty-headed,  one-sided  individual.  He 
had  both  read  and  thought,  and  even  written  a  little,  and 
in  him  Jess  found  a  mind  which,  though  of  an  inferior 
stamp,  was  more  or  less  kindred  to  heroAvn.  Although  he 
did  not  undei-stand  her  she  understood  him,  and  at  last, 
had  he  but  known  it,  there  rose  a  far-off  dawning  light 
upon  the  twilight  of  her  mind  that  thrilled  and  changed  it  aa 


JESS. 


25 


the  fimt  faint  rays  of  morning  thrill  and  change  the  darkness 
of  the  night.  What  if  she  should  learn  to  love  this  man, 
and  teach  him  to  love  her?  To  most  women  such  a  thought 
involves  more  or  less  the  idea  of  marriage,  and  that  change 
of  status  which  the}'  generally  consider  so  desirable.  But 
Jess  did  not  think  much  of  that;  what  she  did  think  of  was 
the  blessed  possibility  of  being  able  to  lay  down  her  life,  as  it 
wei'e,  in  the  life  of  another — of  finding  at  last  somebody  who 
understood  her  and  whom  she  could  understand,  who  would 
cut  the  down  shackles  that  bound  the  wings  of  her  genius, 
so  that  she  could  rise  and  bear  him  with  her  as,  in  Bulwer 
Lytton’s  beautiful  story,  Zoe  would  have  borne  her  lover. 
Here  at  last  was  a  man  who  understood,  who  was  some¬ 
thing  more  than  an  animal,  and  v/ho  possessed  thegod-like 
gift  of  brains,  the  gift  that  had  been  more  of  a  curse  than 
a  b’essing  to  her,  lifting  her  above  the  level  of  her  sex  and 
shutting  her  off  as  by  iron  doors  from  the  understanding 
of  those  around  her.'  Ah !  if  only  this  perfect  love  of  which 
she  had  read  so  much  would  come  to  him  and  her,  life 
might  perhaps  grow  worth  the  living. 

It  is  a  curious  thing,  but  in  such  matters  most  men 
never  learn  wLsdom  from  experience.  A  man  of  John 
Niel's  age  might  have  guessed  that  it  is  dangerous  work  play¬ 
ing  with  explosives,  and  that  the  quietest,  most  harmless- 
looking  substances  are  sometimes  the  most  explosive.  He 
might  have  known  that  to  set  to  work  to  cidtivate  the  so¬ 
ciety  of  a  woman  with  such  tell  tale  eyes  as  Jess’  was  to 
run  the  risk  of  catching  the  fire  from  them  himself,  to  say 
nothitig  of  setting  hf'r  alight;  he  might  have  known  that 
to  bring  all  the  Aveiglit  of  his  cultivated  mind  to  bear  on 
her  mind,  to  take  tin;  deepest  interest  in  her  studies,  to 
implore  her  to  let  him  see  the  poetry  Bessie  told  him  she 
wi’ote,  but  wiiich  she  would  show  to  no  living  soul,  and  to 
evince  the  most  evident  delight  in  her  singing,  were  one 
and  all  dangerous  things  to  do;  and  yet  he  did  them  and 
thought  no  harm. 

As  for  Bessie,  she  was  delighted  that  her  sister  should 
have  found  anybody  whom  she  cared  to  talk  to  or  who 
co\dd  understand  her.  It  iie\  er  occurred  to  her  that  Jess 
iniglit  fall  in  love.  Jess  was  tl;e  last  person  in  the  world 
to  fall  in  love.  Noi’  di.d  slic  (xileulaLO  what  the  rcviults 
might  be  ti>  John.  As  yet,  at  any  rale,  slie  laid  Jio  inter¬ 
est  in  Captain  Biel—of  course  not. 

And  so  things  went  on  pleasantl}'  enougli  to  all  con- 
ceriied  in  this  drama  till  one  fine  day  when  the  storm- 
clouds  began  to  gather.  .John  had  been  about  the  farm  as 
usual  till  dinner-time,  after  which  he  took  his  gun  and  told 
Jantje  to  se.ddlo  up  his  shooting  pony.  He  was  standing 
on  the  veranda,  waiting  for  the  poiiv  to  appear,  and  by  him 


?.5 


JESS. 


was  Bessie,  lookinp:  particularly  attractive  in  a  wliite 
dress,  '.vl.e.i  scudciily  he  <;ai>ght  sight  erf  Frank  Mailer’s 
great  black  hniv-;e.  and  i1)at  gentleiiian  himself  aj^on  it, 
cantering  up  liio  avenue  of  blue  gums. 

‘‘Hullo,  Miss  Bessie,”  he  s.aid,  ‘‘l-iere  •eemes 
friend.  ” 

‘‘Bother!”  said  Bessie,  stamping  her  foota  and  then, 
■with  a  quick  look,  “  Why  do  you  call  him  my  friendt” 

‘‘  I  imagine  that  he  considers  himsidf  so,  to  judge  from 
the  nundier  of  times  a  week  he  eomeR  to  see  you,”  he  an- 
sw^ered,  with  a  shrug.  “Ac  any  rate  he  isiBc  mine,  so 
I’m  otf  shooting.  Good-bye.  I  hoT>e  that  j'ou  will  enjoy 
yourself.” 

“You  are  not  kind,”  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  turn€‘d 
her  back  on  him. 

In  another  moment  iie  w'as  gone,  and  Frank  Muller  had 
arrived. 

‘‘How  do  yon  do.  Miss  Bessie?"’  he  said,  jumping  from 
his  lioi'se  with  t.lie  rapidity  of  a  man  ■who  had  been  ac¬ 
customed  to  rough  riding  all  his  life.  “  Where  is  the 
ri’ooibaatje  ’  off  to?” 

“Captain  Niel  is  going  out  shooting,”  she  said,  coldly. 

“  Ah,  so  mneh  better  for  you  and  me.  Miss  Bessie!  Vv^e 
can  have  a  pleasant  talk.  Where  is  that  black  monkey, 
Jantje?  Here,  Jantje,  take  my  horse,  you  ugly  devil, 
and  mind  you  look  after  him,  or  I’ll  cut  the  liver  out  o£ 
you!” 

Jantje  took  the  horse,  with  a  forced  grin  of  appi’eciation 
at  the  joke,  and  led  him  off  round  the  house. 

“  I  don’t  think  tli;it  Jantje  likes  you,  Meinbeer  MuIIgt,” 
said  Bessie,  spitefully,  “and  I  don’t  wonder  at  it  if  yma 
talk  to  him  like  that.  Ho  told  me  the  other  day  that  lie 
had  knov/n  you  for  twenty  years,”  and  she  looked  at  him 
inquiringljo 

This  casual  remark  produced  a  remarka.hle  effect  on  her 
visitor,  who  turned  color  beneath  Ins  t;uined  skin. 

“  Ho  lies,  the  black  hound,”  he  said,  “  and  I’ll  put  a  buB 
let  through  him  if  he  says  it  again!  What  should  I  know 
about  hi)n,  or  he  ahont  me?  Can  I  keep  count  of  every 
miserable  man-moukey  1  meet?’’  and  he  muttered  a  string 
of  Duitcli  oaths  into  his  long  beard. 

‘■Really,  meinbeer!’’  said  Bes.sie. 

“Why  do  A’on  always  call  mo  ‘meinbeer?’  ”  ho  asked, 
turning  so  fierce]  3^  on  lier  that  she  started  back  a  step.  ‘‘I 
tell  you  I  am  not  a  Boer.  I  am  an  Englishman.  My 
mother  vra,s  Eng^lish ;  and  besides,  thanks  to  Lord  Carnar¬ 
von  we  are  all  English  now.” 

“1  don't  .see  wliy  you  should  mind  being  thought  a 
Boer, '  ’  she  said  coolly ;  ‘  ‘  there  are  s'ome  very  good  people 


JESS. 


S7 


among  the  Boers,  and  besides,  you  used  to  be  a  great 
‘patriot.’  ” 

“  Used  to  be — ^yes;  and  so  the  trees  used  to  bend  to  the 
north  when  the  wind  blow  that  way,  but  now  they  bend  to 
the  south,  for  the  wind  lias  turned  By  and  by  it  may  set 
to  the  north  again — that  is  another  matter — then  we  shall 
see.  ’  ’ 

Bessie  made  no  answer  beyond  pursing  up  her  pretty 
mouth  and  slowly  picking  a  leaf  from  the  vine  that  trailed, 
overhead. 

The  big  Butelunan  took  off  his  hat  and  stroked  his  beard 
perplexedly.  Evidently  he  was  meditating  something  that 
ne  wa,s  afraid  to  saju  Twice  he  fixed  his  cold  e3ms  on  Bes- 
tie’.s  fair  fcvce,  and  twice  looked  down  again.  The  second 
tiin-j  she  took  alarm. 


‘  Excuse  me  one  minute,”  she  said,  and  made  rts  though- 
to  eater  the  houfH3. 

”  Waciib  eon  beeche”  (wait  a  bit),  he  ejaculated,  break¬ 
ing  into  Dutch  in  his  agitation,  and  even  catching  hold  of 
her  wlute  dre,ss  with  his  big  hand. 

Site  drew  the  dress  from  him  witli  a  quick  twist  of  her 
lithe  form,  and  turned  and  faced  him. 

“  I  I'jeg  jmur  pardon,”  she  said,  in  a  tone-  that  could  not 
be  called  eucoin-i.ig'ing:  ”  you  v/ere  going  to  say  some¬ 
thing.” 

”  Yes — ah,  that  is— I  was  going  to  say - ”  and  he 

paused. 

Bessie  stood  vvith  a  polite  look  of  expectation  on  lier  face, 
a,  >d  waited. 

■‘i  was  going  to  say — that,  in  short,  that  I  want  to  marry 
you !” 

”  Oh!”  said  Bessie,  witli  a  start. 

“  Listen,”  he  went  on  hoarsely,  bis  words  gathering  force 
a.s  lie  went,  as  is  the  v.uJ,y  even  with  uncultured  people 
wlien  the.y  speak  f]-om  the  heart.  ”  Listen !  I  love  yOu, 
Bes.sie;  1  have  loved  vou  P?.\ 


haN'c  seen  3  011  I  he.ve  luved  ; 

—  you  don’t  know  hov/  1  d 
every  night;  sometimes  I  dream 


for  three  years.  Every  time  I 


on  more.  Don't  say  me  nay 
'  love  3’ou.  I  dream  of  you 
'  at;  .1.  hear  3’onr  dre.ss 
rustling,  and  ti.ien  you  come  and  kiss  me,  and  it  is  like 
being  in  heaven.” 

Here  Bessie  made  a  g;esture  of  di.sgust. 

‘‘.There,  I  have  oifendcHl  you,  btit  don't  be  angr3'  with 
me.  I  am  very  lich,  Bessie.  There  is  the  rdace  liere.  and 
the.u  I  have  four  farms  in  .Lvdeuburg  and  ton  tliousaud 
morgen  up  in  Wateibej'g,  and  a  tiiou.saad  lc;ad  or  cattle, 
be.sides  sheep  and  horses,  and  moue.v  in  liie  b;mk.  You 
shall  have  everything  your  O'.vn  v.ay,”  he  went  on,  seeing 
thrit  the  inventory  of  his  goods  did  not  app'-ar  to  mipress 


88 


JESS. 


her — “everything — the  house  shall  be  English  fashion;  f 
will  build  a  new  ‘sit-kame’ ’’—(sitting-room)— ‘‘and  it 
shall  be  furnished  from  Natal.  There,  I  love  you,  I  say. 
You  won’t  say  no,  will  you?”  and  he  caught  her  by  the 
hand. 

‘‘I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Muller,” answered 
Bessie,  snatching  away  her  hand,  “but— in  short,  I  can¬ 
not  marry  you.  No,  it  is  no  use,  I  cannot  indeed.  There, 
please  say  no  moi-e — here  comes  my  uncle.  Forget  all 
about  it,  Mr.  Muller.” 

Her  suitor  looked  up;  there  was  old  Silas  Croft  coming 
sure  enough,  but  he  was  some  way  off,  and  walking 
slowly. 

“Do  you  mean  it?”  he  said,  beneath  his  breath. 

“  Yes"  yes,  of  course  I  mean  it.  Why  do  you  force  nia 
to  repeat  it?” 

“It  is  that  damned  rooibaatje, ”  he  broke  out.  “You 
used  not  to  be  like  this  before.  Curse  him,  the  v/liite- 
livered  Englishman !  I  will  be  even  with  him  yet;  and  I 
tell  you  what  it  is,  Bessie,  you  shall  marry  me,  whether 
,you  like  it  or  no.  Look  liere,  do  you  think  I  am  the  sort 
of  man  to  play  with?  You  go  to  Wakkerstroom  and  ask 
what  sort  of  a  man  Frank  Muller  is.  See,  I  want  you — I 
must  have  you.  I  could  not  live  if  I  thought  that  I  should 
never  get  you  for  myself.  And  I  tell  you  I  will  do  it.  I 
don’t  care  if  it  costs  me  my  life,  and  your  rooibaatje’s  too. 
I’ll  do  it  if  I  have  to  stir  up  a  revolt  egainst  the  Government. 
There,  I  swear  it  by  God  or  by  the  devil,  it’s  all  one  to 
roe!”  And,  growing  inarticulate  with  passion,  he  stood 
there  before  her  clinching  and  unclinching  his  great  hand, 
and  his  lips  trembling. 

Bessie  was  very  frightened;  but  she  was  a  brave  woman, 
and  rose  to  the  occasion. 

“If  you  go  on  talking  like  that,”  she  said,  “I  will  call 
my  uncle.  I  tell  you  that  I  will  not  marry  you,  Frank 
Muller,  and  that  nothing  shall  ever  make  nu;  marry  you. 
I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  but  I  have  not  encouraged  you, 
and  I  will  never  marry  you — never!” 

He  stood  for  hrdf  a  minute  or  so  looking  at  her,  and  then 
burst  intii  a  savage  laugh. 

“  I  think  that  so?ne  day  or  other  I  shall  find  a  way  to 
make  you,”  he  said,  and  turning,  went  without  another 
word. 

A  couple  of  minutes  later  Bessie  heard  the  sound  ot 
horse  galloping,  and  looking  up  saw  her  wooer’s  powerful 
form  vanishing  down  the  vista  of  blue  gums.  Also  sha 
heard  somebody  crying  out  as  though  in  pain  at  the  back 
lOf  the  house,  and  more  to  relieve  her  mind  th.an  anything 
elae,  went  1  o  ree  what  it  waa.  By  the  stable  e  •  \e  found 


JESS. 


29 


the  Hottentot  Jantje,  twisting  round  and  round  and  shriek¬ 
ing  and  cursing,  holding  his  hand  to  his  side,  from  which 
the  blood  was  running. 

“  AVhat  is  it?”  she  asked. 

”  Baas  Frank!”  he  said — ‘‘Baas  Frank  hit  me  with  hia 
whip!” 

“The  brute,”  said  Bessie,  the  tears  starting  into  her 
eyes  with  anger. 

“Never  mind,  missie,  never  mind,”  said  the  Hottentot, 
his  ugly  face  growing  livid  with  fury,  “it  is  only  one  more 
to  me.  I  cut  it  on  this  stick” — and  ho  held  up  a  long 
thick  stick  he  carried,  on  wliich  were  several  notches, 
starting  from  three  deep  ones  at  the  top  just  below  the 
knob.  “  Let  him  look  out  sharp— let  him  search  the  grass 
— let  him  creep  round  the  bush — let  him  look  as  he  will,  one 
day  he  Avill  find  Jantje,  and  Jantje  Avill  find  him.” 

“Why  did  Frank  Muller  gallop  away^  like  that?”  asked 
her  uncle  of  Bessie  when  she  got  back  to  the  veranda. 

“  We  had  some  words,”  she  answered,  shortly,  not  see¬ 
ing  the  use  of  explaining  matters  to  the  old  man. 

“Ah,  indeed,  indeed.  Well,  be  careful,  my  love.  It’s 
ill  to  quarrel  with  a  man  like  Frank  Muller.  I’ve  known 
him  for  many  years,  and  he  has  a  black  heart  when  he  is 
crossed.  You  see,  my  love,  you  can  deal  with  a  Boer  and 
you  can  deal  with  an  Englishman,  but  cross-bred  dogs  are 
bad  to  handle.  Take  my  advice,  and  make  it  up  with 
Frank  Muller.” 

All  of  which  sage  advice  did  not  tend  to  raise  Bessie’s 
spirits,  which  were  already  sufficiently  low. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DREA3IS  ARE  FOOLISHNESS. 

When  John  Niel  left  Bessie  on  the  veranda  at  the  ap¬ 
proach  of  Frank  Muller  he  had  taken  his  gun,  and,  having 
whistled  to  the  pointer  dog  Pontac,  mounted  his  shooting 
pony'  and  started  out  in  quest  of  partridges.  On  the  Avarm 
slopes  of  the  hills  round  Wakkerstj-oom  a  large  species  of 
partridge  is  very  abundant,  especially  in  the  patches  of 
red  grass  in  which  they  are  sometimes  clothed.  It  is  a 
merry  sound  to  hear  these  pai-ri-idges  calling  from  all  di¬ 
rections  just  after  daybreak,  and  one  to  make  the  heart  of 
every'  true  sportsman  rejoice  e.\cee<lingly._  On  leaviiig  the 
house  John  proceeded  up  the  side  of  the  hill  behind  it — his 
pony  picking  its  Avay  carefully  between  the  stones,  aiid  tlia 
dog'Pontac  ranging' about  two  or  three  hundred  yards  olf, 
ioi  in  this  sort  of  country  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  dog  with 
;  .v  ide  range. 

•  ye.-eutly  John  saw  him  stop  under  a  mi_mp^-a  thorn  and 


80 


JUSS. 


s-iddenly  stiffen  out  as  if  he  had  been  petrified,  and  made 
the  best  of  his  way  toward  him.  Pontac  stood  still  for  a 
few  seconds,  and  then  slowly  and  deliberately  veered  his 
head  round  as  though  it  worked  on  a  hinge  to  see  if  his 
master  was  comitig.  John  knew  his  ways.  Three  times 
would  that  remarkable  old  dog  look  round  thus,  and  if  the 
gun  had  not  then  arrived  he  would  to  a  certainty  run  in 
and  flush  the  birds.  Tliis  was  a  rule  that  he  never  broke, 
for  his  patience  had  a  fixed  limit.  On  this  occasion,  how¬ 
ever,  John  arri\'ed  before  it  was  reached,  and,  jumping-  off 
his  pony,  cocked  his  gun  and  marched  slowly  up,  full  of 
happy  expectation.  On  drew  the  dog,  his  eye  cold  and 
fixed',  saliva  dropping  from  his  month,  and  his  head  and 
face,  on  wliich  was  frozen  an  extraordinary  expression  of 
instinctive  ferocity,  outstretched  to  their  utmost  limit. 

He  was  right  under  the  mimosa  thorn  now  and  up  to  his 
belly  in  the  warm  red  grass.  Where  could  the  birds  be, 
Y/hirr!  and  a  great  feathered  shell  seemed  to  have  burst 
at  his  vei\v  feet.  What  a  covey  !  twelve  brace  if  there  was 
a  bird,  and  tiiey  had  all  been  lying  beak  to  beak  in  a  space 
no  bigger  than  a  cartwheel.  Up  went  John’s  gun  and  off 
too,  a  little  sooner  than  it  should  have  done.  * 

“Missed  liim  clean!  Now  then  for  the  left  barrel.'” 
Same  result.  Thei-e,  we  will  draw  a  veil  over  the  pi'ofanity 
iliat  ensued.  A  minute  later  and  it  was  all  over,  and  John 
and  Poiitac  were  regarding  each  other  with  contempt  and 
dh-g'tst. 

“It  was  ail  jmti,  you  brute, ”  said  John  to  Pontac.  ‘‘1 
thought  you  were  going  to  run  in.  and  you  hurried  irie.” 

“TJghl”  said  Pontac  to  John,  or  at  least  he  looked  it. 
“Ugh!  you  disgusting  bad  shot.  What  is  the  good  of 
pointing  for  you?  It's  enough  to  make  a  dog  sick.” 

The  covey— or  rather  the  collection  of  ohl  birds,  for  this 
kind  of  partridge  sometimes  “packs”  just  before  the 
breeding  season— had  scattered  all  about  tlie  place,  and  it 
was  not  long  before  Pontac  found  some  of  them;  and  this 
time  John  got  one  bird— and  a  bea.utiful  great  partridge 
he  was  too,  with  yellow  legs— and  missed  another.  Again 
Pontac  pointed,  and  a  brace  rose.  Bang!  down  goes  one; 
bang!  with  the  other  barrel.  Caught  him.  by  Jove,  just  aa 
be  topped  the  stone.  Hullo!  Pontac  is  still  on  the  point. 
Slip  in  two  more  cartridges.  Oh,  a  leash  this  time!  bang) 
bang!  and  down  come  a  brace  of  them— two  brace  of  par¬ 
tridge  without  moving  a  yard. 

Life  has  joys  for  all  men,  but  it  has,  I  A^erily  believe,  no 
joy  to  compare  to  the  joy  of  the  moderate  shot  aud  earnest 
sportsman,  when  be  has  just  killed  half  a  dozen  driven 
partridges  without  a  miss,  or  ten  rocketing  pheasants  with 
eleven  cartridges,  or,  better  still,  a  couple  of  woodcoefe 


JESS. 


31 


right  and  left.  Sweet  to  the  politician  are  the  cheere  to 
announce  the  triumph  of  his  cause  and  of  himself;  sweet 
to  the  desponding  writer  is  the  unexpected  public  recog 
niiion  in  the  Saturday  Ilevieiv  ot  talents  with  which  no¬ 
body  had  previously  been  much  impressed;  sweet  to  all 
men  is  the  light  of  women’s  eyes  and  the  touch  of  women's 
lips. 

But  though  he  have  experienced  all  these  things,  to  the 
true  sportsman  and  the  m.oderate  shot,  sweeter  far  is  it  to 
see  the  arched  vvung  of  the  driven  bird  beiit  like  Cupid's 
bow  come  flashing  fast  toward  him,  to  feel  the  touch  of  the 
stock  asit  fits  itself  ag-ainst  the  shoulder,  and  the  kindly 
give  of  the  trigger,  and  then,  oh  thrilling  sight !  to  perceive 
the  wonderful  and  yet  awful  change  from  life  to  death,  the 

Euff  of  feathers,  and  the  hurtling  passage  of  the  dull  mass 
orne  onward  by  its  own  force  to  fall  twenty  yards  from 
where  the  shot  struck  it.  Next  se.ssion  the  politician  will 
be  hooted  down,  next  year  perhaps  the  Saturday  lievicw 
will  cut  the  happy  writer  to  ribbons  and  decorate  its  col¬ 
umns  with  his  fragments,  next  vceek  you  will  have  wearied 
of  those  sweet  smiles,  or,  more  likely  still,  the}"  will  be  be¬ 
stowed  elsewhere.  Vanity  of  vanities,  my  so:r,  each  and 
allot  them!  But  if  you  arc  a  true  sportsman  (3’es,  even 
thougli  you  be  but  a  moderate  shot),  it  will  always  be  a 
glorious  thing  to  go  out  shooting,  and  when  you  chance  to 
shoot  well  earth  holds  no  such  joy  as  that  which  will  glow 
in  your  honest  breast  (for  all  sportsmen  are  honest),  and  it 
reinains  to  bo  proved  if  heaven  does  either.  It  is  a  grand 
sport,  though  the  pity  of  it  is  that  it  should  be  such  a  cruel 
one. 

Such  was  the  paean  that  John  sang  in  liis  heart  as  he 
contemplated  those  fine  partridges  before  lovingly  trans¬ 
ferring  them  to  his  bag.  But  his  luck  to  day  was  not  des¬ 
tined  to  stop  at  partridges,  for  hardly  had  be  ridden  over 
the  edge  of  the  bowlder  strewn  side,  and  on  to  the  flat 
table-iop  of  the  hill  which  consisted  of  some  five  hundred 
acres  of  land,  before  he  ])erceived,  emerging  from  the  sliel- 
ter  of  a  tuft  of  grass  about  a  liundred  and  seventy  yax’ds 
away,  nothing  less  than  the  tall  neck  and  whiskered  head 
of  a  large  "pauw”  or  bustard. 

Now  it  is  quite  useless  to  try  to  ride  straight  up  to  a 
bustard,  and  this  ho  knew.  The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  ex¬ 
cite  his  cuiiosity  and  fix  his  atteiition  by  moving  round 
and  round  him  in  an  e\  er  narrowing  circie.  Putting  liis 
pony  to  a  canter,  John  proceeded  to  do  this,  with  a  heart 
beating  with  excitement.  Round  and  round  he  went;  tlie 
“  pauw  ”  had  vanished  now;  he  was  squatting  in  the  tuft 
of  grass.  The  last  circle  brought  liim  to  within  seventy 
yards,  and  he  did  not  dare  risk  it  atiy  nmro,  so,  jumi^ing 


82 


JESS. 


>©11  his  pony,  he  ran  in  toward  the  bird  as  hard  as  ever  ht 
could  go.  Before  he  had  covered  ten  yards,  the  '■  pauw  ’• 
A\  ns  rising,  but  they  are  heavy  birds,  and  he  was  within 
forty  yards  before  it  was  fairly  on  the  wing.  Then  he 
pulled  up  and  fired  both  barrels  of  No.  4  into  it.  Down  it 
cnme,  and,  incautious  man,  he  rushed  forward  in  triumph 
without  reloading  his  gun.  Already  was  his  hand  out¬ 
stretched  to  seize  the  prize,  when,  behold!  the  great  wings 
stretched  themselves  out,  and  the  bird  was  flying  away. 
John  stood  dancing  upon  the  veldt,  but  observing  that  it 
settled  within  a  couple  of  hundred  yards,  ran  back, 
mounted  his  pony,  and  pursued  it.  When  he  got  near  it, 
it  rose  again,  and  flew  this  time  a  hundred  yards  only,  and 
so  it  went  on,  till  at  last  he  got  within  gun-shot  of  the  king 
of  birds,  and  killed  it. 

By  this  time  he  was  right  across  the  mountain-top,  and 
on  the  brink  of  the  most  remarkable  chasm  he  haa  ever 
seen.  The  place  was  known  as  Lion’s  Kloof,  or  Leeu  Kloof 
in  Dutch,  because  three  lions  had  once  been  penned  up  by 
a  party  of  Boers  and  shot  there.  The  chasm  or  gorge  was 
between  a  quarter  and  half  a  mile  long,  about  six  hundred 
feet  in  width,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  to  a  hundred  and 
eighty  feet  deep.  It  evidently  owed  its  origin  to  the 
action  of  running  water,  for  at  its  head,  just  to  the  right 
of  where  John  Niel  stood,  a  little  stream  welling  from  hid¬ 
den  springs  in  the  flat  mountain- top  trickled  from  strata 
to  strata,  forming  a  series  of  crystal  pools  and  tiny  water¬ 
falls,  till  at  last  it  reached  the  bottom  of  the  mighty  gorge, 
and  pursimd  its  way,  half-hidden  by  the  umbrella-topped 
mimosa  and  other  thorns  that  were  scattered  about, 
th.rough’it  to  the]plains  beyond.  Evidentlj^  this  little  stream 
•was  liie  parent  of  the  gulf  it  flowed  down  and  through, 
but  how  many  centuries  of  patient,  never-ceasing  flow, 
wondered  John  Niel,  must  have  been  necessary  to  the  vast 
result  before  him?  First  centuries  of  saturation  of  the  soil 
piled  on  and  between  the  bed  rocks  that  lay  beneath  it  and 
jutted  up  through  it,  then  centuries  of  floods  caused  by 
rr.in  and  )^erhaps  by  melting  snows,  to  wash  away  the 
loos(Ui  d  nio'.ild;  tlion  centuries  upon  centuries  more  of 
flo'vii.g  and  ol  raiiifall  to  wasli  the  debris  clean  and  com¬ 
plete  ,  he  colossal  work. 

I  say  the  rocks  that  jutted  up  through  the  soil,  for  the 
gulf  was  not  clean  cut.  All  along  its  sides,  and  here  and 
there  in  its  arena,  stood  up  mighty  columns  oi-  (ingers  of 
rock,  not  solid  columns,  but  columns  formed  by  huge 
bowlders  piled  mason-fashion  one  upon  another,  as  though 
tha'iitansof  some  (head  age  had  employed  themselves  in 
bid.  .ling  them  up,  overcoming  1  heir  tendency  to  fall  by  the 
me.  e  crushing  weigl-t  above,  that  kept  them  stead v  even 


JESS. 


SS 


when  the  wild  breath  of  the  ptorms  came  howling  down 
the  gorge  and  tried  its  strengili  against  them.  About  a 
huiidreii  paces  from  the  nf'-aren.d  of  the  gorge,  some  ninety 
or  niore  feet  in  heiglit.  stood  the  most  remarkable  of  these 
mighty  pillars,  to  '.vhich  sIk'  remninsat  Stonehenge  are  but 
toys.  It  was  formed  of  so  s  en  huge  bowlders,  the  largest, 
that  ;tt  the  bottom,  about  the  size  of  a  moderate  co;  lage, 
and  tlie  smallest,  tiiat  at  the  top.  perhaps  eight  or  ten  feet 
in  di.ameter.  These  bo'vlders  were  rounded  like  a  ct  icku-i- 
ball —evidently  tlirougli  the  action  of  water  -  .a.! id  yei  the 
ha.nd  of  Nature  liatl  contrived  to  balance  theni,  each  one 
smallnr  them  that  beneath,  the  one  upon  (lie  other,  aitd 
to  keep  them  so.  But  this  was  not  alw.ays  the  ctise.  Tor 
instance,  a  very  similar  mass  that  ha.d  ris<m  on  the  near 
side  of  tlie  perfect  pillar  had  fallen,  all  except  the  two  bot¬ 
tom  Stones,  and  tlie  bowlders  that  went  to  form  it  lay  scat¬ 
tered  .about  like  monstrous  petrified  cannon  balls.  One  of 
these  iiad  split  in  two,  and  seated  on  it  John  discovered 
none  other  than  Jess  Croft,  apparently  engaged  in  sketch¬ 
ing,  looking  very  small  and  far  off  at  the  bottom  of  that 
va.st  cliasni. 

John  got  off  his  .shooting  pony,  and  looking  about  him 
perceived  that  it  was  possible  to  descend  by  following  the 
course  of  the  stream  and  clambering  down  the  natural 
steps  it  had  cut  in  the  rocky  bed.  'Throwing  the  reins 
over  the  pony’s  head,  and  leaving  him  with  the  dog  Pon- 
tac  to  stand  and  look  about  him  as  South  African  shooting 
ponies  are  accustomed  to  do,  he  put  down  bis  gun  asia 
game  and  proceeded  to  descend,  pausing  eveiw  now  and 
again  to  admire  the  wild  beauty  of  the  scene  and  look  at 
the  hundred  varieties  of  moss  and  ferns,  the  last  mostly  of 
the  maiden- tiair  {capilla  tieneris)  genus,  that  clothed  every 
cranny  and  every  rock  whei’e  they  could  find  roothold 
and  get  refreshment  from  the  water  or  the  spray  of  the 
cascades.  As  he  nrew  near  the  bottom  of  the  gorge  he  saw 
that  near  the  borders  of  the  stream,  wherever  the  soil  was 
moist,  grew  thousand.sjupon  thousands  of  white  arum  lilies, 
*■  ihg  lilies  ”  they  call  ttiein  there;  just  now  in  full  bloom, 
lie  had  noticed'these  lilies  from  above,  but  thei-ethey  had, 
owing  to  the  distance,  looked  so  small  that  he  had  taken 
them  for  everlastings  or  anemones.  He  could  not  see  Jess 
now,  for  she  was  hidden  by  a  bush  that  grows  by  the 
banks  of  tlie  streams  in  South  Africa  in  low-lying  land, 
and  wliich  at  certain  seasons  of  the  yeiir  is  literally  cov¬ 
ered  with  masses  of  the  most  gorgeous  scarlet  bloom.  His 
footste]is  fell  very  softly  on  the  moss  and  flowers,  and 
•when  he  got  round  the  glorious-looking  bush  it  was  evi¬ 
dent  that  she  had  not  heard  him.  for  she  was  asleep.  Her 

hat  was  off,  but  the  bush  shaded  her,  and  her  head  had 
4 


34 


JESS. 

failea  forward  over  her  sketching  block  and  rested  on  hef 
hand.  A  ray  of  liglit  that  came  through  the  bush  played 
apou  her  curling  brown  hair  and  threw  warm  shadowis  on 
her  \yhite  face  and  the  white  wrist  and  hand  on  which  it 
rested. 

John  stood  opjtosite  to  her  and  looked  at  her,  and  the  old 
curiosity  took  possession  of  him  to  understand  this  fem¬ 
inine  enigma.  Many  a  man  before  him  has  been  the  vic¬ 
tim  of  a  like  desire,  and  lived  to  regret  that  he  did  not 
leave  it  ungratified.  It  is  not  well  to  try  and  lift  the  cur¬ 
tain  of  the  nnseen,  it  is  not  well  to  call  to  heaven  to  show 
its  glory,  or  to  hell  to  give  us  touch  and  knowledge  of  its 
yawning  fires.  Knowledge  comes  soon  enough;  many  of 
us  will  say  that  knowledge  has  come  too  soon  and  left  us 
desolate.  There  is  no  bitterness  like  the  bitterness  of  wis¬ 
dom  :  so  cried  the  great  Koholeth,  and  so  hath  cried  many 
a  son  of  man  following  blindly  on  his  path.  Let  us  be 
thankful  for  the  dark  places  of  the  earth -places  where  we 
may  find  rest  and  shadow,  and  the  heavy  sweetness  of  the 
night.  Seek  not  after  mysteries,  O  son, of  man,  be  content 
with  the  practical  and  the  proved  and  the  broad  light  of 
day;  peep  not,  mutter  not  the  words  of  awakening.  Un¬ 
derstand  her  who  would  be  understood  and  is  compre¬ 
hensible  to  those  who  run,  and  for  the  others  let  them  be, 
lest  yonr  fate  should  be  as  the  fate  of  Eve,  and  as  the  fate 
of  Lucifer,  star  of  the  morning.  For  here  and  there  there 
is  a  human  heart  from  which  it  is  not  wise  to  draw  the 
veil  -  a  heart  in  which  many  things  slumber  as  undreamed 
dreatris  in  the  brain  of  the  sleeper.  Draw  not  the  veil, 
whisper  not  the  word  of  life  in  the  silence  where_.all  things 
sleep,  lest  in  that  kindling  breath  of  love  and’  pain  dim 
shapes  arise,  take  form,  and  fright  thee. 

A  minute  or  so  might  have  passed,  when  suddenly,  and 
v/ith  a  little  start,  Jess  opened  her  great  eyes,  on  which  the 
shadow  of  darkness  lay,  and  gazed  at  him. 

Oh  !”  she  said  with  a  little  tremor,  “is  it  you  or  is  it 
my  dream?”  ,  '  ^ 

“Don't  he  afraid,”  he  answered  cheerily,  “it  is  I — in  the 
flesh.” 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hand  for  a  moment,  and 
then  witiidrew  it,  and  he  noticed  that  her  eyes  had  changed 
curiously  in.  that  moment.  They  were  still  large  and 
beautiful  as  they  always  were,  hut  there  was  a  change, 
ij.ust  now  they  had  seemed  as  though  her  soul  wore  looking 
■fclirough  them.  Doubtless  it  was  because  the  pupils  were 
enlarged  by  sleep, 

“  Your  dream!  '^Vhat  dream?”  he  asked,  laughing 

“Never  ^jndJ she  answered  in  a  quiet  sort  of  way 


JESS. 


85 


that  excited  his  curiosity  more  than  ever;  “dreams  are 
foolishness.” 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  STORM  BREAKS. 


“Do  you  know,  you  are  a  very  odd  person,  Miss  Jess,” 
John  said  presently,  with  a  little  laugh.  "I  don’t  think 
you  can  have  a  happy  mind.’’ 

She  looked  up.  “  A  happy  mind?’’  she  said.  “  Who  can 
have  a  happy  mind?  Nobody  who  can  feel.  Supposing,’’ 
she  went  on  after  a  pause — “  supposing  one  puts  oneself  and 
one’s  own  little  interests  and  joys  and  sorro’ws  quite  away, 
how  is  it  possible  to  be  happy,  when  one  feels  the  breath  of 
human  misery  beating  on  one’s  face,  and  sees  the  great 
tide  of  sorrow  and  suffering  creeping  up  to  one’s  feet? 
One  may  be  on  a  rock  oneself  and  out  of  the  path  of  it, 
till  the  spring  floods  or  the  hurricane  wave  comes  to  sweep 
one  away,  or  one  may  be  afloat  upon  it:  whichever  it  is, 
it  is  quite  impossible,  if  one  has  any  heart,  to  be  indiffer¬ 
ent  to  it.” 

“  Then  only  the  indifferent  are  happy?” 

“  Yes,  the  indifferent  and  the  selfish;  but,  after  all,  it  is 
the  same  thing:  indifference  is  the  perfection  of  selfish¬ 
ness.  ’  ’ 

“  I  am  afraid  that  there  must  be  lots  of  selfishness  in  the 
world,  for  there  is  certainly  plenty  of  happiness,  all  evil 
things  notwithstanding.  I  should  have  said  that  happiness 
comes  from  goodness  and  from  a  sound  digestion.” 

Jess  shook  her  head  as  she  answered,  “I  may  be  wrong, 
but  I  don’t  see  how  anybody  who  feels  can  be  quite  happy 
in  a  world  of  sickness,  suffering,  slaughter,  and  death.  I 
saw  a  Kafir  woman  die  yesterday,  and  her  children  crying 
over  her.  She  was  a  poor  creature  and  had  a  rough  lot, 
but  she  loved  her  life,  and  her  children  loved  her.  Who 
can  be  happy  and  thank  God  for  his  creation  when  he  has 
just  seen  such  a  thing?  But  there.  Captain  Niel,  my  ideas 
are  very  crude,  and  I  dare  say  very  wrong,  and  everybody 
has  thought  them  before ;  at  any  rate,  I  am  not  going  to  in¬ 
flict  them  on  you.  What  is  the  use  of  it?”  she  v/ent  on, 
with  a  laugh;  “what  is  the  use  of  anything?  The  same 
old  thoughts  passing  through  the  same  human  minds  from 
year  to  year  and  century  to  century,  just  as  the  same 
clouds  float  across  the  same  blue  sky.  The  clouds  are  bora 
in  the  sky,  and  the  thoughts  are  born  in  the  brain,  and 
they  both  end  in  tears  and  re-arise  in  blinding,  bewilder- 
ing'^mist,  and  this  is  the  beginning  and  end  of  thoughts 
aiul  clouds.  They  arise  out  of  the  Mop;  iliey  overshadow 


'  I'-ey  are  drawn 


86 


JESS. 


thing 


begins 


up  with  the  blue  again,  and  the  whole 
airesh.’' 

“So  you  don’t  think  that  one  con  be  happy  in  the 
world?”  he  asked. 

”  I  did  not  say  that — I  never  said  Hint  T  do  think  that 
hcippiness  is  possible.  It  is  possible  if  oiie  can  love  sonie- 
bod 3^  so  hard  that  one  can  quite  forget  oneself  and  every¬ 
thing  else  excei>t  that  person,  and  it  is  possible  if  one  can 
sacrifice  oneself  for  others.  There  is  no  true  haxipiness 
outside  of  love  and  self-sacrifice,  or  rather  outside  of  love, 
for  it  includes  the  other.  That  is  gold,  all  the  re.st  is 
gilt.” 

“How  do  A'ou  know  that?”  he  asked  quickly,  “You 
have  never  been  in  love.” 

“No.”  she  answered,  “I  have  never  been  in  love  like 
that,  but  all  the  happiness  I  have  had  in  niy  life  has  come 
to  me  from  loving.  I  believe  that  love  is  the  secret  of  the 
world:  it  is  like  the  pi dlosoiiher’s  stone  the\"  used  to  look 
for,  and  almost  as  hard  to  find,  but  when  one  finds  it  it 
turns  everjuhing  to  gold.  Perhaps,”  she  went  on  with  a 
little  laugh,  “when  tiie  angels  left  the  earth  thej'’ left  us 
love  behind,  that  b}’  it  and  tbi’ough  it  we  may  climb  up  to 
them  again.  It  is  the  one  thing  that  lifts  us  above  the 
brutes.  Without  love  man  is  a  brute,  and  nothing  but  a 
brute;  with  love  he  draws  near  to  God.  When  everj^thing 
else  falls  away  the  love  will  endure  because  it  cannot  die 
while  There  is  any  life,  if  it  is  true  love,  for  it  is  immortal. 
Only  it  must  be  true— jmu  see  it  must  be  true.” 

He  had  got  through  her  reserve  now;  the  ice  of  her  man¬ 
ner  broke  up  beneath  the  warmth  of  her  words,  and  her 
usTially  impassive  face  had  caTight  the  life  and  light  from 
the  ev'es  above,  and  acquired  a  certain  beauty  of  its  own. 
He  lookcal  at  it.  and  realized  something  of  the  Tintaught 
and  ill- regulated  intensity  and  depth  of  the  nature  of  this 
curious  girl.  He  caught  her  eyes  and  they  moved  him 
strangely,  though  he  was  not  an  emotional  man,  and  Avas 
too  old  to  experience  spasmodic  thrills  at  the  chance 
glances  of  a  pretty  woman.  He  went  toward  her,  looking 
at  her  curiously’. 

“  It  would  be  Avorth  living  to  be  loved  like  that,”  he  said, 
more  to  hitnself  than  to  her. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  she  let  her  eyes  rest  on  his.  In¬ 
deed,  she  did  more,  for  she  put  all  her  soul  into  them  and 
gazed  and  gazed  tillJohn  Niel  felt  as  though  he  were  being 
mesmerized.  And  as  he  did  so  there  rose  up  in  her  breast 
p.  knowledge  that  if  she  willed  it  she  could  gain  this  man’s 
and  hold  it  against  all  the  world,  for  her  nature  was 
wronger  than  his  nature,  and  her  mind,  untrained  as  it 
A/vas,  encomjias:^!  his  mind  and  could  pass  over  it  and  beat 


JESS. 


37 


it  down  as  the  wind  beats  down  a  tossing  sea.  All  this 
she  learnt  in  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye ;  she 
did  not  know  how  she  knew  it,  but  she  did  know  it  as 
surely  as  she  knew  that  the  blue  sky  stretched  overhead, 
and,  what  is  more,  he — for  the  moment,  at  any  rate — knew 
it  too.  It  came  on  her  as  a  shock  and  a  revelation,  like 
the  tidings  of  a  great  joy  or  grief,  and  for  a  moment  left 
her  heart  empty  of  all  things  else. 

She  dropped  her  eyes  suddenly. 

“  I  think,”  she  said  quietly,  ”  tliat  we  have  been  talking 
a  great  deal  of  nonsense,  and  that  I  want  to  finish  my 
sketch.” 

He  got  up  and  left  her,  for  he  had  to  get  home,  saying  as 
he  did  so  that  be  thought  there  was  a  storm  coming  up, 
the  air  was  so  quiet,  and  the  wind  had  fallen  as  it  does  be¬ 
fore  an  African  tempest,  and  presently  on  looking  round 
she  saw  him  slowly  climbing  the  precipitous  ascent  to  the 
table -laud  above. 

It  was  a  glorious  afternoon,  such  as  one  sometimes  gets 
in  the  African  spring,  although  it  was  so  intensely  still. 
Everywhere  were  the  proofs  and  evidences  of  life.  The 
winter  was  over,  and  now,  from  the  sadness  and  sterility 
of  its  withered  age,  sprung  young  and  lovely  summer  clad 
in  sunshine,  be-diamonded  with  dew,  and  fragrant  with 
the  breath  of  flowers.  Jess  lay  back  and  looked  up  into 
the  infinite  depths  above.  How  blue  they  were,  and  how 
measureless !  She  could  not  see  the  angry  clouds  that  lay 
like  visible  omens  on  the  horizon.  See  there,  miles  above 
her,  was  one  tiny  cii'cling  speck.  It  was  a  vulture,  watch¬ 
ing  her  from  his  airy  heights  and  descending  a  little  to  see 
if  she  was  dead,  or  only  sleeping. 

Involuntarily  she  shuddered.  The  bird  of  death  re¬ 
minded  her  of  Death  himself  also  hanging  high  up  there 
in  the  blue  and  waiting  his  opportunity  to  fall  upon  the 
sleeper.  Then  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  bough  of  the  glori¬ 
ous  fioweidng  bush  under  which  she  lay.  It  was  not  more 
than  four  feet  above  her  head,  but  she  was  so  still  and  mo¬ 
tionless  that  a  jeweled  honeysucker  came  arid  hovei’ed 
over  the  flowers,  darting  from  one  to  another  like  a  many- 
colored  flash.  Thence  her  glance  traveled  to  the  great 
column  of  bowlders  that  towered  up  above  her,  and  tliat 
seemed  to  say,  ”1  am  very  old.  I  have  seen  many  springs 
and  many  winters,  and  have  looked  down  on  many  sleei> 
ing  maids,  and  where  are  they  now?  All  dead— all  dead,” 
and  an  old  baboon  in  the  rocks  with  startling  suddenness 
barked  out  ‘'all  dead'’'  in  answer. 

Around  her  were  the  blooming  lilies  and  the  lustiness 
cf  springing  life;  the  heavy  air  was  sweet  with  the  odor 
of  ferns  and  the  mimosa  *  flower.  The  running  water 


as 


JESS. 


splashed  and  musically  fell;  the  sunlight  lay  in  golden 
bars  athwart  the  shade,  like  the  memory  of  happy  days  in 
the  gray  vista  of  a  life;  away  in  the  cliffs  yonder,  the 
rock-doves  were  preparing  to  nest  by  hundreds,  and  wak¬ 
ing  the  silence  with  their  cooing  and  the  flutter  of  their 
wings.  Even  the  grim  old  eagle  perched  on  the  pinnacle 
of  the  rock  was  pruning  himself,  contentedly  happy  in  the 
knowledge  that  his  mate  had  laid  an  egg  in  that  dark 
corner  of  the  cliff.  Everything  I'ejoiced  and  cried  aloud 
that  summer  was  at  hand  and  that  it  was  time  to  bloom, 
and  love,  and  nest.  Soon  it  would  be  winter  again,  wlieri 
things  died,  and  next  summer  other  things  Avould  live 
under  the  sun,  and  they  perchance  would  be  forgotten. 
That  was  what  they  seemed  to  say. 

And  as  she  lay  and  heard,  her  youthful  blood,  drawn  by 
nature’s  magic  force,  as  the  moon  draws  the  tide,  rose  in 
her  veins  like  the  sap  in  the  budding  trees,  and  stirred  her 
virginal  serenity.  All  the  bodily  natural  part  of  her 
caught  the  tones  of  nature’s  happy  voice  that  bade  her 
break  her  bands,  live  and  love,  and  be  a  woman.  And  lol 
the  spirit  within  her  answex’ed  to  it,  and  flung  wide  her 
bosom’s  doors,  and  of  a  sudden,  as  it  were,  something 
quickened  and  lived  in  her  heaj’t  that  was  of  her  and  yet 
had  its  own  life — a  life  apart;  something  that  sprung  from 
her  nnd  another,  and  that  would  always  be  with  her  now 
and  that  could  never  die;  and  she  rose  ])ale  and  trembling, 
as  a  ''vornan  trembles  at  the  first  stirriiig  of  a  child  that  she 
shall  bear,  and  clung  to  the  flowery  bough  of  the  beautiful 
busii  above  and  then  sank  down  again,  feeling  the  spirit 
of  her  girlhood  had  departed  from  her,  and  that  another 
angel  had  entered  there;  knew' that  she  loved  w'ith  heart 
and  soul  and  body,  and  was  a  ver.}^  woman. 

She  iia<l  called  to  Love  as  the  wretched  call  to  Death,  and 
Love  had  come  in  his  strength  and  possessed  her  utterly; 
and  r.ow  for  a  little  while  she  wms  afraid  to  pass  into  tl;0 
shadow  of  his  wings,  as  the  wretched  who  call  on  Death 
fear  him  when  they  feel  his  icy  fingers.  But  the  fear 
passed,  an.d  the  great  joy  and  the  new  consciousness  of 
power  and  of  identity  that  the  inspiration  of  a  true  passion 
gives  to  some  strong  deep  natures  remained. , and  after  a 
while  she  j  repaied  to  make  her  way  home  across  the 
mod  id  ail! -to]),  feeliiig  as  though  she  were  another  woman. 
But  still  she  diii  not  go,  but  lay  there  with  closed  eyes  and 
drank  of  tnis  new  intoxicating  whie.  So  absorbed  was  she 
that  slid  d  ’d  liot  iet;  tiiat  the  birds  had  ceased  to  call, 
and  that  tiie  eagle  laid  lied  away  for  shelter.  She  was  not 
aw'a.ri' of  t  h.o  great  .and  solemn  hush  that  had  taken  the 
place  merry  vrdee  of  beast  and  bird  and  preceded 

the  L'e'-.y  ■  ‘j ho  gat.hoi'ed  storm. 


JESS. 


39 


At  last  ghe  rose  to  go  stie  opened  her  dark  eyes,  which 
had  been  for  the  most  part  shut  while  this  great  change  was 
passing  over  her,  and  with  a  natural  impulse  turned  to  look 
'?>nce  more  on  the  place  where  her  happiness  had  found  her, 
and  then  sank  down  again  with  a  little  exelamation.  Where 
was  the  light  and  the  glory  and  all  the  happiness  of  the  life 
th. at  moved  and  grew  around  her?  Gone,  and  in  its  place 
darkness  and  rising  mist  and  deep  and  ominous  shadows.  As 
she  lay  and  thought  the  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  hill  and  left 
the  great  gulf  nearly  dark,  and,  as  is  common  in  South  Africa, 
the  heavy  storm-cloud  had  crept  across  the  blue  sky  and  sealed 
up  the  light  from  above.  A  drear  wind  came  moaning  up  the 
gorge  from  the  plains  beyond  ;  the  heavy  raindrops  began  to 
fall  one  by  one  ;  the  lightning  flickered  fitfully  in  the  belly  of 
the  advancing  cloud.  The  storm  that  John  had  feared  was 
upon  her. 

Then  came  a  dreadful  hush.  Jess  had  recovered  herself  by 
now,  and,  knowing  what  to  expect,  snatched  up  her  sketching 
block  and  hurried  into  the  shelter  of  a  little  cave  hollowed  by 
water  in  the  side  of  the  cliff.  And  then  with  a  rush  of  ice-cold 
air,  the  tempest  burst.  Down  came  the  rain  in  a  sheet;  and 
then  flash,  upon  flash  gleaming  fiercely  through  the  vapor* 
laden  air;  and  roar  upon  roar  echoing  in  the  rocky  cavities  in 
volumes  of  fearful  sound. 

Then  another  pause  and  space  of  utter  silence,  followed  by  a 
blaze  of  light  that  dazed  and  blinded  her,  and  suddenly  one  of 
the  piled-up  columns  to  her  left  swayed  to  and  fro  like  a  pop* 
lur  in  a  breeze,  and  fell  headlong  with  a  crash  that  almost 
mastered  the  awful  crackling  of  the  thunder  overhead  and  the 
shrieking  of  the  baboons  scared  from  their  crannies  in  the 
cliff.  Down  it  came  beneath  the  stroke  of  the  fiery  sword,  the 
brave  old  pillar  that  had  lasted  out  so  many  centuries,  sending 
clouds  of  dust  and  fragments  high  up  into  the  blinding  rain, 
and  carrying  awe  and  wonder  into  the  heart  of  the  girl  who 
watched  its  fall.  Away  rolled  the  storm  as  quickly  as  it  had 
come,  with  a  sound  like  the  passing  of  the  artillery  of  an  em¬ 
battled  host,  and  then  a  gray  rain  set  in,  blotting  out  the  out¬ 
lines  of  everything,  like  an  enduring,  absorbing  grief,  dulling 
the  edge  and  temper  of  a  life.  Through  it  Jess,  scared  and  wet 
to  the  skin,  managed  to  climb  up  the  natural  steps,  now  madeal 
most  impassable  by  the  prevailing  gloom  and  the  rush  of  the  vra- 
ter  from  the  table  top  of  the  mountain,  and  so  on  across  th.e  sod* 
den  plain,  down  the  rocky  path  on  the  further  side,  past  the  little 
walled-in  cemeterv  with  r'ts  four  red  gums  planted  at  its  corners, 
ic  which,  a  d  ranger  who  had  died  at  Mooifontcin  lay  buried,  just 
as  the  dark of  the  wet  night  came  down  like  a  cloud,  bom© 


40 


JESS. 


at  laSv.  xit  the  back-door  stood  her  old  uncle  with  g 
lantern. 

“Is  that  you.  Jess?’'  he  called  out  in  his  stentorian 
tones.  “  Lord !  what  a  sight !"  as  she  emerged,  her  sodden 
dress  clinging  to  her  slight  form,  her  hands  bleeding  with 
clambering  over  the  rocks,  her  curling  hair,  which  had 
broken  loose,  hanging  down  her  back  and  half  covering 
her  face. 

“Lord,  what  a  sight!”  he  ejaculated  again.  “Why, 
Jess,  where  have  you  been?  Captain  Niei  has  gone  out  to 
look  for  you  with  tlie  Kafirs.” 

“  I  have  been  sketching  in  Leuw  Kloof,  and  got  caught 
in  the  storm.  There,  uncle,  let  me  pass,  I  want  to  get  these 
wet  things  off.  It  is  a  bitter  night,”  and  off  she  ran  to  her 
room,  leaving  a  long  trail  of  water  behind  her  as  she 
passed.  Tire  old  man  entered  the  house,  shut  the  door,  and 
blew  out  the  lantern. 

“  Now',  what  is  it  she  reminds  me  of?”  he  said  aloud,  as 
be  groped  his  way  down  the  passage  to  the  sitting-room. 

Ah,  I  know,  that  night  wTien  she  first  came  here  out  of 
ihe  rain  leading  Bessie  by  the  hand.  What  can  the  girl 
Lave  beeir  thinking  of.  not  to  see  the  thunder  coming  up? 
She  ought  to  know  the  signs  of  the  weather  here  by  now. 
Dreaming,  I  suppose,  dreaming.  She’s  an  odd  woman, 
Jess,  very.”  Perhaps  he  did  not  quite  knoAv  hoAv  accurate 
his  guess  was,  and  how  true  the  conclusion  he  drew  from 
it.  Certainly  she  had  been  drea,ming,  and  she  was  an  odd 
woman. 

Meanwhile  Jess  was  rapidly  changing  her  clothes,  and 
removing  the  traces  of  her  struggle  with  the  elements. 
But  of  that  other  struggle  that  she  had  gone  through  she 
could  not  remove  the  traces.  They  and  the  love  that  arose 
from  it  would  endure  as  long  as  she  endured.  It  was  her 
former  self  that  had  been  cast  off  in  it  and  that  now  lay 
behind  her,  an  empty  and  meaningless  thing  like  the 
shapeless  pile  of  garments.  It  was  all  very  strange.  So 
he  had  gone  to  look  for  her,  and  had  not  found  her.  She 
was  glad  that  he  had  gone.  It  made  her  happy  to  think 
cf  him  searching  and  calling  in  the  wet  and  the  night. 
She  was  only  a  woman,  and  it  was  natural  that  she  should 
feel  thus.  By  and  by  he  would  come  back,  and  find  her 
clothed  and  in  her  right  mind,  and  ready  to  greet  him. 
She  was  glad  that  he  had  not  seen  her,  Avet,  d^isheveled, 
and  shapeless.  A  woman  looks  so  unpleasant  like  that.  It 
might  have  turned  him  against  her.  Men  like  women  to 
look  nice  and  clean  and  pretty.  That  gave  her  an  idea. 
She  turned  to  her  glass,  and,  holding  the  light  above  her 
head,  studied  her  own  face  attentively  in  it.  She  was  a 
Woman  with  as  little  vanity  in  her  composit^y."’  ’t  is  pos- 

r 


JESS. 


41 


eible  cov  a  woman  to  have,  and  she  had  not  till  now  given 
her  personal  looks  mnch  consideration.  They  had  not  been 
of  gi'eat  importance  to  her  in  the  Wakkerstoom  district  of 
the  Transvaal.  Bat  now  all  of  a  sudden  they  became  very 
importamt;  and  so  she  stood  and  looked  at  her  own  wonder¬ 
ful  eyes,  at  the  masses  of  ciirling  brown  hair  still  damp  and 
shining  fi'om  the  rain,  at  the  curious  pallid  face,  and  clear” 
cut  determijied  mouth. 

“If  it  was  not  for  m}^  eyes  and  hair,  I  shoTild  be  very 
ugly,  “  she  said  to  herself  aloud.  “  If  only  I  were  beauti¬ 
ful  like  Bessie,  now.’’  The  thought  of  her  sister  gave  her 
another  idea.  Vvhat  if  he  were  to  prefer  Bessie?  Now 
she  thouglU,  of  it,  he  had  been  very  attentive  to  Bessie.  A 
feeling  of  dreadful  doubt  and  jealousy  passed  through  her, 
for  women  like  Jess  know  what  jealousy  is  in  its  pain. 
Supposing  that  it  was  all  in  vain,  supposing  that  what  she 
had  to-day  given— given  with  both  hands  once  and  for  all,  so 
that  she  could  not  take  it  back,  had  been  given  to  a  man  who 
loved  another  woman,  and  that  women  her  own  dear  sister? 
Suppooing  that  the  fate  of  her  love  was  to  be  like  water 
falling  unalteringly'  on  the  hard  rock  that  heeds  it  not  and 
retains  it  not.  True,  the  water  wears  the  rock  away;  but 
could  she  be  satisfied  with  that?  She  could  master  him, 
she  knew;  even  if  things  were  so,  she  could  win  him  to 
herself,  she  had  read  it  in  his  eyes  that  afternoon;  but 
could  she,  who  had  promised  her  dead  mother  to  cherish 
and  protect  her  sister,  whom  till  this  afternoon  she  had 
loved  better  than  ajiything  in  the  world,  and  whom  she 
still  loved  more  dearly  than  her  life — could  she,  if  it  should 
happen  to  be  thus,  rob  that  sister  of  her  lover?  And  if  it 
should  be  so,  what  would  her  life  be  like?  It  would  be  like 
the  great  pillar  after  the  lightning  had  smitten  it,  a  pile  c£ 
scattered  smoking  fragments,  a  very  heaped-up  debris  of  a 
life.  She  could  feel  it  even  now.  No  wonder  she  sat  there 
upon  the  little  white  bed  holding  her  hand  against  her 
heart  and  feeling  terribly  afraid. 

Just  then  she  heard  John’s  footstep  in  the  hall. 

“I  can’t  find  her,”  he  said,  in  an  anxious  tone  to  some 
one  as  she  rose,  taking  her  candle  with  her,  and  left  the 
room.  The  liglit  from  the  candle  fell  full  upon  his  face 
and  dripping  clothes.  It  was  white  and  anxious,  and  she 
was  glad  to  see  the  anxiety. 

"Oh.  (hank  God!  here  you  are!”  he  said,  catching  her 
hand.  "I  began  to  think  you  were  quite  lost.  I  liave 
been  right  down  the  Kloof  after  you,  and  got  a  nasty  tall 
over  it.”  _  . 

■■  li  is  very  good  of  you,”  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  ana 
again  Guhr  byes  met,  and  again  the  glance  thrilled  him. 
There  was  .such  a  wonderful  light  in  Jess’  eyes  th^t  night. 


42 


JESS. 


Half  an  hour  afterward  tliey  sat  down  as  usual  to  supper. 
Bessie  did  not  put  in  an  appearance  till  it  was  a  quartet 
over,  and  then  sat  very  silent  through  it.  Jess  narrated 
her  adventure  in  the  Kloof,  and  everybody  listened,  but 
nobody  said  much.  There  was  a  sort  of  shadow  over  the 
iiouse  that  e^■ening,  or  perhaps  it  veas  that  each  of  the 
party  was  thinking  of  his  own  affairs.  After  supper  old 
Silas  Croft  began  talking  about  the  political  state  of  the 
country,  which  gave  him  uneasiness.  He  said  that  he  be¬ 
lieved  the  Boers  really  meant  to  rebel  against  the  govern¬ 
ment  this  time.  Frank  Muller  had  told  him  so,  and  he 
always  knew  what  was  going  on.  This  announcement  did 
not  tend  to  raise  anybody’s  spirits,  and  the  evening  passed 
as  silently  as  the  meal  had  done.  At  last  Bessie  got  up, 
stretched  her  rounded  arms,  and  said  that  she  was  tired 
and  going  to  bed. 

“Come  into  my  room,”  she  whispered  to  her  sister  as 
she  passed.  “  I  want  to  speak  to  you.” 


CHAPTER  VII. 
love’s  young  dream. 

After  waiting  a  few  minutes,  Jess  said  “Good  night,’* 
and  went  straight  to  Bessie’s  mom.  Her  sister  had  ur?,’ 
dressed,  and  was  sitting  on  her  bed.  wrapped  in  a  blue 
dressing-gown  that  suited  her  fair  complexion  admirably, 
and  witli  a  very  desponding  expression  on  her  beautiful 
face.  Bessie  wms  one  of  those  people  who  ai'e  easil}^  elated 
and  easily  cast  down. 

Jess  came  up  to  her  and  kissed  her.  ■ 

“What. is  it,  love?”  she  said.  Her  sister  would  never 
have  divined  the  gnawing  anxiety  that  was  eating  at  her 
heart  as  she  said  it. 

“Oh,  Jess,  I’m  so  glad  that  you  have  come.  I  do  so 
want  you  to  advise  me— that  is,  to  tell  me  what  you 
think — and  she  paused. 

“You  must  tell  me  what  it  is  all  about  first,  Bessie 
dear,”  she  said,  sitting  dovni  opposite  to  her  in  sucli  a  po¬ 
sition  that  her  face  was  shaded  from  the  light.  Bessie 
tapped  her  naked  foot  against  the  matting  witli  which  the 
little  room  wuis  cari)eted.  It  wms  an  exceedingly  pretty 
foot. 

“  Well,  dear  old  girl,  it  is  just  this — Prank  Muller  has 
been  here  i<>  ask  me  to  marry  him.” 

“  Oh,”  said  Jess,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  “  so  that  was  all?” 
Shii  felt  as  though  a  ton-weight  had  been  lifted  fi-om  her 
heart.  She  h.ad  ex])ected  that  bit  of  news  for  some  time. 

“  He  w.anted  me  to  marry  him,  and  when  I  said  7,  wou.ld 
»iOt,  he  beiiaved  like — like- — 


JESS. 


48 


**1Like  a  Boer,”  suggested  Jess. 

“Like  a  hrute.’’^  went  on  Bessie,  with  emphasis. 

“So  you  don’t  like  Fraiik  Mailer?” 

“Like  him!  I  lo.iilie  the  man.  You  don't  knov/ how  I 
loathe  him,  Avith  liis  handsome,  bad  face  and  his  cruel  eyes. 
I  always  loathed  him.  and  mow  i  hate  him,  too.  But  I  will 
tell  you  all  about  it;”  and  she  did,  with  many  feminine 
comments  and  interpolations. 

Jess  sat  quite  still,  and  waited  till  she  had  finished. 

“Well,  dear,”  sdie  sand  at  last,  “you  are  not  going  to 
marry  him,  and  so  there  is  an  end  of  it.  You  can't  detest 
the  man  more  than  I  do.  I  have  watched  him  for  years,” 
slie  went  on,  Avith  rising  anger,  “and  I  tell  you  that  Frank 
Muller  is  a  liar  and  a  traitor.  That  n)an  AAmuld  betray  his 
own  father  if  he  thought  it  to  his  interest  to  do  so.  He 
hates  uncle — I  am  sure  he  does,  although  he  pretends  to  be 
so  fond  of  him.  I  am  sure  that  he  has  tried  often  and 
often  to  sl;ir  up  the  Boeis  against  him.  Old  Hans  Coetzee 
told  me  that  he  denounced  him  to  the  veld-cornet  as  an 
‘uitlander’  and  a  ‘verdcrade  Engelsrnaiin  ’  about  two 
years  before  the  annexation,  and  tried  to  get  him  to  per¬ 
suade  the  landdrost  to  report  him  as  a  law-breaker  to  the 
Eaad;  Avhilo  all  the  time  he  Avas  pretending  to  be  so 
friendly.  Then  in  the  Sikukuni  Avar  it  Avas  Frank  Muller 
who  caused  them  to  commandeer  uncle’s  two  best  wagons 
and  the  spans.  He  gave  none  himself,  nothing  but  a 
couple  of  bags  of  meal.  He  is  a  Avicked  fellow,  Bessie,  and 
a  dangerous  fellow;  but  he  has  more  brains  and  more 
pOAver  about  him  than  any  man  in  the  Transvaal,  and  you 
will  have  to  be  very  careful,  or  he  Avill  do  us  all  a  bad 
turn.” 

“Ah!”  said  Bessie;  “well,  he  can’t  do  much  now  that 
the  country  is  English.” 

“I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  I  a.m  not  so  sure  that  the 
country  is  going  to  stop  English.  You  la;igh  at  me  for 
reading  the  home  papers,  but  I  see  things  there  that  make 
me  doubtf;il.  The  other  people  are  in  pow'er  now  in  Eng¬ 
land,  and  one  does  not  know  Avhat  they  may  do;  you  heard 
what  uncle  said  to  night.  They  might  give  us  up  to  the 
Boers.  You  must  remember  that  we  far-away  people  are 
OhIa'  the  counters  Avilh  Avhicli  they  play  their  game.” 

“  Nonsense,  Jeiss,”  said  Be.ssie,  indignantly.  English¬ 
men  are  not  like  that.  When  they  say  a  thing,  they  stick 
fcc  it. ' ' 

“  They  used  to,  you  mean,”  answered  Jess,  with  a  shrug, 
and  got  up  from  her  chair  to  go  to  bed. 

Bessie  began  to  fidget  her  Avhite  feet  over  one  n  -. other. 

“Step  a  bit,  Jess,  deai’,”  she  said.  “I  AViuit  oak  tO 
^ou  about  something  else.” 


JESS. 


a 

Jess  sat,  or,  rather,  dropped  back  into  her  chair,  and  h^ 
pale  face  turned  paler  than  ever ;  but  Bessie  blushed  rosy 
red  and  hesitated. 

“  It  is  about  Captain  Niel,”  she  said,  at  length. 

“  Oh,”  answered  Jess,  Avith  a  little  laugh,  and  her  voice 
sounded  cold  and  strange  in  her  own  ears.  “Has  he  been 
following  Frank  Muller's  example,  and  proposing  to  you, 
too?” 

“No-o,”  said  Bessie,  “but”— and  here  she  rose,  and, 
sitting  on  a  stool  by  her  elder  sister’s  chair,  rested  her 
forehead  against  her  knee— “but  I  love  him,  and  I  believe 
that  he  loves  me.  This  morning  he  told  me  that  I  Avas 
the  prettiest  Avoman  he  had  seen  at  home  or  abroad,  and 
the  sweetest  too;  and  do  you  know,”  she  said,  looking  up 
and  giving  a  happy  little  laugh,  “  I  think  he  meant  it, 
too.” 

“  Ai’e  you  joking,  Bessie,  or  are  you  really  in  earnest?” 

“In  earnest!  ah,  but  that  I  am,  and  I  am  not  ashamed 
to  say  it.  I  fell  in  love  with  John  Niel  Avhen  he  killed 
that  cock  ostrich.  He  looked  so  strong  and  saA^age  as  he 
fought  with  it.  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  see  a  man  put  out 
all  his  strength.  And  then  he  is  such  a  gentleman ! — so 
different  from  the  men  Ave  see  round  here.  Oh,  yes,  I  fell 
in  love  with  him  at  once,  and  I  have  got  deeper  and  deeper 
in  love  with  him  ever  since,  and  if  he  does  not  marry  me 
I  think  it  Avill  break  my  heart.  There,  that’s  the  truth, 
Je.ss  dear,”  and  she  dropped  her  golden  head  on  to  her  siS' 
ter’s  knees,  and  began  to  cr}'  softly  at  the  thought. 

And  the  sister  sat  there  on  the  chair,  her  hand  hanging 
idly  by  her  side,  her  Avhite  face  set  and  impassive  as  that 
of  an  Egyptian  Sphinx,  and  the  large  eyes  gazing  far  away 
through  the  window,  against  which  the  rain  was  beating 
—far  aAvay  out  into  the  night  and  the  storm.  She  heard 
the  surging  of  the  storm,  she  heard  her  sister's  Aveeping, 
her  eyes  perceived  the  dark  square  of  the  Avindow  throuj^ 
which  they  appeared  toJook,  she  could  feel  Bessie's  head 
upon  her  knee — yes,  she  could  see  and  hear  and  feel,  and 
yet  it  seemed  to  her  tliat  she  was  dead.  The  lightning  had 
lallen  on  her  soul  as  it  fell  on  the  pillar  of  rock,  and  it  was 
as  the  pillar  Avas.  And  it  had  fallen  so  soon !  there  had 
been  such  a  little  span  of  happiness  and  hope!  And  so 
she  sat,  like  a  stony  Sphinx,  and  Bessie  Avept  softly  before 
her,  like  a  beautiful,  breathing,  loving  huinau  suppliant, 
and  the  two  formed  a  picture  and  a  contrast  such  as  the 
student  of  human  nature  does  not  often  get  the  chance  of 
seeing. 

It  was  the  elder  sister  Avho  spoke  first  after  all. 

“Well,  dear,”  she  said,  “what  are  you  crying  abouU 


4 


JESS. 


46 


You  love  Captain  Niel,  and  you  believe  that  he  loveg  yoTi, 
Surely  there  is  nothing  to  cry  about.” 

“Well,  I  don’t  know  that  there  is,”  said  Bessie,  more 
cheerfully;  “but  I  was  thinking  how  dreadful  it  would  be 
if  I  lost  him.” 

‘  ‘  I  don’ t  think  that  you  need  be  afraid,  ’  ’  said  Jess ;  ‘  ‘  and 
now,  dear,  I  really  must  go  to  bed,  1  am  so  tired.  Good¬ 
night,  my  dear;  God  bless  you!  I  think  that  you  have 
made  a  very  wise  choice.  Captain  Niel  is  a  man  whom  any 
woman  might  love,  and  be  proud  of  loving.  ’  ’ 

In  another  minute  she  was  in  her  room,  and  there  her 
composure  left  her,  for  she  was  but  a  loving  woman  after 
all.  She  flung  herself  upon  her  bed,  and,  hiding  her  face 
in  the  pillow,  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  weeping — a  very 
different  thing  from  Bessie's  gentle  tears.  Her  grief  abso¬ 
lutely  convulsed  her,  and  she  pushed  the  bed-clothes 
against  her  mouth  to  prevent  the  sound  of  it  penetrating 
the  partition  wall  and  reaching  John  Niel’s  ears,  for  his 
room  was  next  to  hers.  Even  in  the  midst  of  her  suffering 
the  thought  of  the  irony  of  the  thing  forced  itself  into  her 
mind.  There,  separated  from  her  only  by  a  few  inches  of 
lath  and  plaster  and  some  four  or  five  feet  of  space,  was 
the  man  for  whom  she  mourned  thus,  and  yet  he  was  as 
ignorant  of  it  as  though  he  were  thousands  of  miles 
away. 

Sometimes,  at  such  acute  crises  in  our  lives,  the  limita¬ 
tions  of  our  physical  nature  do  strike  us  in  this  sort  of 
way.  It  is  strange  to  be  so  near  and  yet  so  far,  and  it 
brings  the  absolute  and  utter  loneliness  of  ever}^  created 
being  home  to  the  mind  in  a  manner  that  is  forcible  and  at 
times  almost  terrible.  John  Niel  going  composedly  to 
sleep,  his  mind  happy  with  the  recollection  of  those  two 
right  and  left  shots,  and  Jess,  lying  on  her  bed,  six  feet 
away,  and  sobbing  out  her  stormy  heart  oyer  him,  are, 
after  all,  but  types  of  what  is  continually  going  on  in  this 
remarkable  world.  How  often  do  we  understand  one  an¬ 
other’s  grief?  and,  when  we  do,  by  what  standard  ca,n  we 
measure  it?  More  especially  is  comprehension  rare  if  we 
happen  to  be  the  original  cause  of  the  trouble.  Do  we 
think  of  the  feelings  of  the  beetles  it  is  our  painful  duty  to 
crush  into  nothingness?  Not  at  all.  If  we  have  any  com¬ 
punctions,  they  are  quickly  absorbed  in  the  pride  of  our 
capture.  And  more  often  still,  as  in  the  present  case,  we 
set  our  foot  upon  the  poor  victim  by  pure  accident  or 
venial  carelessness. 

Presentl}^  he  was  fast  asleep,  and  she,  her  paroxysm 
pas(.,  was  walking  up  and  down,  down  and  up,  her  little 
s’oom.  her  bare  feet  falling  noiselessly  on  the  carpeting  as 


JEF^F). 


m 


she  strove  to  weor  out  the  first  bitterness  of  her  woe.  Oh, 
that  it  lay  in  her  power  to  recall  tOe  past  few  days!  Oh^ 
that  she  had  never  seen  his  face,  that  must  now  be  ever  be* 
fore  her  eyes !  But  for  her  there  was  no  such  possibility, 
and  she  felt  it.  She  knew  her  own  nature  well.  Her 
heart  had  spoken,  and  the  word  it  said  must  roll  on  con¬ 
tinually  through  the  spaces  of  her  mind.  Who  can  recall 
the  spoken  word,  and  who  can  set  a  hmit  to  its  echoes? 
It  is  not  so  with  all  women,  but  here  and  there  may  be 
found  a  nature  where  it  is  so.  Spirits  like  this  poor  girl’s 
are  too  deep,  and  partake  too  much  of  a  divine  immutabil¬ 
ity,  to  shift  and  suit  themselves  to  the  changing  circum¬ 
stances  of  a  fickle  world.  They  have  no  middle  course; 
they  cannot  halt  half  way ;  they  set  all  their  fortune  on  a 
throw.  And  when  the  throw  is  lost  their  hearts  are 
broken,  and  their  happiness  passes  away  like  a  swallow. 

For  in  such  a  nature  love  rises  like  the  wind  on  the  quiet 
breast  of  some  far  sea.  None  can  say  whence  it  comes  or 
whither  it  blows;  but  there  it  is,  lashing  the  waters  to  a 
storm,  so  that  they  roll  in  thunder  all  the  long  day 
through,  throwing  their  white  arms  on  high,  as  they  clasp 
at  the  evasive  air,  till  the  darkness  that  is  death  comes 
down  and  covers  them. 

What  is  the  interpretation  of  it?  Why  does  the  great 
wind  stir  the  deep  waters?  It  does  but  ripple  the  shallow 
pool  as  it  passes,  for  shallowness  can  but  ripple  and  throw 
up  shadows.  We  cannot  tell,  but  this  Ave  knoAv — that  deep 
things  only  can  be  deeply  moved.  It  is  the  penalty  of 
depth  and  greatness;  it  is  the  price  they  pay  for  the  divine 
privilege  of  suffering  and  sympathy.  The  shallow  pools, 
the  looking  glasses  of  our  little  life,  know  nought,  feel 
nought.  Poor  things!  they  can  but  ripple  and  reflect. 
But  the  deei>  sea.  in  its  torture,  may  perchance  catch  some 
echo  of  God’s  voice  sounding  down  the  driving  gale;  and, 
as  it  lifts  itself  a.nd  tosses  up  its  waves  in  agony,  may  per¬ 
ceive  a  glow,  flowing  from  a  celestial  sky  that  is  set  beyond 
the  horizon  that  bounds  its  being. 

Suffering,  mental  suffering,  is  a  prerogative  of  greatness, 
and  even  here  there  lies  an  exquisite  joy  at  its  core.  For 
everything  has  its  compensations.  Nerves  such  as  these  can 
thrill  Avith  a  high  happiness,  that  Avill  sweep  unfclt  over 

lus  he  Avho  is  stricken  with  grief  at 
’s  misery— as  all  great  and  good  men 
lifted  up  with  joy  by  catching  some 
faint  gleam  of  the  almighty  purpose  that  underlies  it  all. 
So  it  was  with  the  Son  of  Man  in  His  darkest  Itours;  the 
Spirit  that  enabled  Him  to  compass  out  the  measure  of 
the  Avorid’s  suffering  and  sin  enabled  Him  also,  knowing 
their  purposes,  to  gaze  beyond  them ;  and  thus  it  is,  too. 


the  mass  of  men.  T 
the  sight  of  the  Avorlc 
must  be — is  at  times 


JESS. 


with  those  deep-hearted  clhldren  of  Hi, 3  r.o  e,  who  partake, 
however  dimly,  of  His  divinity. 

And  so,  even  in  this  lionr  of  her  darkest  bitterness  and 
grief,  a  gleam  of  comfort  straggled  to  Jess’  bi  easi  just  as 
the  firrst  ray  of  dawn  was  struggling  through  iho  stormy 
night.  She  would  sacrifice  herself  to  her  .sister— that  she 
had  determined  on;  and  lienee  came  that  cold  gleam  of 
happiness,  for  there  is  happiness  in  .self-sacrifice,  whatever 
the  cynical  miay  say.  At  first  her  woman’s  nature  had 
risen  iii  rebellion  against  the  thought.  Why  should  .she 
throw  her  life  away?  She  had  as  good  a  right  to  him  as 
Bessie,  and  she  knew  that  the  strength  of  her  own  hand 
she  could  hold  him  against  Bessie  in  all  her  beauty,  how¬ 
ever  far  things  had  gone  between  them;  and  she  believed, 
a.s  a  jealous  woman  is  prone  to  do,  that  they  had  gone 
much  further  than  they  had. 

But  by  and  by,  as  she  pursued  that  weary  march,  her 
better  self  rose  up,  and  mastered  the  prompting.s  of  lu'r 
heart.  Bessie  loved  him,  and  Bessie  was  weaker  than  .she, 
and  less  suited  to  bear  pain,  and  she  had  sworn  to  her 
dying  mother — for  Bessie  had  been  her  mother’s  darling— 
to  promote  her  happiness,  and,  come  what  would,  to  com¬ 
fort  and  protect  her  by  every  means  in  her  power.  It  ■was 
a  wide  oath,  and  she  was  only  a  child  when  she  took  ic, 
but  it  bound  her  conscience  none  the  less,  and  surely  it 
covered  this.  Besides,  she  dearly  loved  her— far,  far  more 
than  she  loved  herself.  No,  Bessie  should  have  her  lover, 
and  she  should  never  know  what  it  had  cost  lier  to  give 
him  up;  and  as  for  herself,  well,  she  must  go  away  like  a 
vvoutided  buck,  and  hide  till  she  got  well — or  died. 

She  laughed  a  drear  little  laugh,  and  went  and  bruislied 
her  hair  just  as  the  broad  lights  of  the  dawn  can^e  .stream¬ 
ing  across  the  misty  veldt.  But  slie  did  not  look  at  her 
face  again  in  the  glass;  she  cared  no  more  about  it  now. 
Then  she  threw  herself  dowui  to  sleep  the  .sleep  of  utter  ex¬ 
haustion  before  it  was  time  to  go  out  a^ain  and  face  the 
world  and  her  new  sorrow. 

Poor  Jess!  Love’s  young  dream  had  not  overshadowed 
her  for  long.  It  had  tarried  just  three  hours.  But  it  lia(? 
left  other  dreams  behind. 

“  Uncle,”  said  Jess  that  morning  to  old  Silas  Croft  as  ha 
stood  by  the  kraal -gate,  where  he  had  been  counting  out 
the  sheep — an  operation  requiring  great  quickness  of 
eye,  and  on  tlie  accurate  performance  of  which  he  greatly 
irlded  himself. 

‘  A'es,  yes,  my  dear,  I  know  what  you  are  gomg  to  say. 
if  was  very  neatly  done;  it  i.sn’t  everybody  who  can  couul; 
out  six  hundred  ruuuiug  hungry  sheep  without  a  mistako. 


^8 


JESS. 


Buc  then,  I  oughtn’t  to  say  too  ranch,  tor  you  see  1  hav® 
oeen  at  it  for  fifty  years,  in  tno  Old  Colony  and  here. 
Now,  many  a  man  would  get  fifty  sheep  wrong.  There’s 
Niel  now — 

‘•Uncle,”  said  she,  wincing  a  little  at  the  name,  as  a 
fiorse  with  a  sore  back  winces  at  the  (ouch  of  the  saddle, 

■'  it  wasn't  about  the  sheep  that  I  Avas  going  to  speak  to  you. 
IwantyOLitodo  me  a  favor.” 

‘  A  favor?  Why,  God  bless  the  girl,  how  pale  you  look ! 
-not  but  what  you  are  always  pale  Well,  what  is  it 
ow  ?'  ’ 

“  I  want  to  go  up  to  Pretoria  by  the  post-cart  that  leaves 
Wakkerstroom  tomorrow  afternoon,  and  to  stop_  for  a 
couple  of  months  wuth  my  schoolfellow,  Jane  Neville.  I 
have  often  promised  to  go,  and  1  have  ixever  gone.” 

“Well.  I  never!”  said  the  old  nxan,  “  My  stay-at-home 
Jess  wanting  to  go  a'.vay,  and  without  Bessie,  too!  What 
is  the  matter  with  yon?” 

”  1  want  a  change,  uncle — I  do  indeed.  I  hope  you  Avon  t 
thwart  me  in  this.” 

Her  iincde  looked  at  her  steadily  with  his  keen  gray  eyes. 

”  Humph!”  he  said;  “you  want  to  go  away,  and  there’s 
an  end  of  it.  Best  not  ask  too  many  questions  where  a 
maid  is  concertied.  Very  Avell,  my  dear,  go  if  you  like, 
though  I  shall  miss  you.” 

“Thank  you,  uncle,”  she  said,  and  kissed  him,  and  then 

turned  and  went.  ■  ,  ,  i 

Old  Croft  took  off  his  broad  hat  and  polished  his  bald 
head  with  a  red  pocket-handkerchief. 

“  There’s  something  up  witli  that  girl,”  he  said  aloud  to 
a  lizard  that  had  crept  out  of  the  crevices  of  the  stone 
to  bask  in  the  sun.  ■'  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  I  look,  and 
I  say  that  there  is  something  wrong  Avith  her.  She  is 
odder  than  ever,”  and  he  hit  viciously  at  the  lizard 
with  his  stick,  whereon  it  promptly  bolted  into  its  crack, 
returning  presently  to  see  if  the  irate  •‘human”  had  de¬ 
parted. 

“  HoAvever,  ”  he  soliloquized,  as  he  made  his  way  up  to 
the  house,  “  I  am  glad  that  it  Avas  not  Bessie.  I  couldn’t 
bear,  at  my  time  of  life,  to  part  with  Bessie,  even  for  a 
couple  of  months.  ’  ’ 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

JESS  GOES  TO  PRETORIA. 

That  day  at  dinner  Jess  suddenly  announced  that  sh® 
was  going  on  the  morrow  to  Pretoria  to  see  Jane  Neville. 

“To  see  Jane  Neville!”  said  Bessie,  opening  her  blue 
syes  wide.  “  V7hy,  it  was  only  last  month  you  said  that 


JESS. 


4« 


fei.  not  care  about  Jane  Neville  now,  because  r-fne  bad 
^ro'^  11  so  vulgar.  Don’t  you  remember  when  she  stopped 
hei-e  on  lier  way  down  to  Natal  last  year,  and  held  up  b.er 
far,  hands,  and  said,  ‘Ah,  Jess — Jess  is  a  genius!  Il  is  a 
privilege  to  know  her.’  And  tlien  slie  wanted  you  to 
quote  Shakespeare  to  that  lump  of  a  brother  of  hei-s,  and 
you  told  her  that  if  she  did  not  hold  her  tongue  she  would 
not  enjoy  the  privilege  much  longer.  And  now  you  want 
to  go  and  stop  with  her  for  two  months!  Well,  Jess,  you 
are  odd.  And,  wliat’s  more,  I  think  it  is  very  unkind  of 
you  to  go  away  for  so  long.” 

To  all  of  which  prattle  Jess  said  nothing,  but  merely  re¬ 
iterated  her  determination  to  go. 

John,  too,  was  astonished,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  not  a 
little  disgusted.  Since  the  previous  day,  Avhen  he  had  that 
talk  with  her  in  Lion  Kloof,  Jess  had  assumed  a  clearer 
and  more  definite  interest  in  his  eyes.  Bcfoi'e  that  she 
had  been  an  enigma ;  now  he  had  guessed  enough  about 
her  to  make  him  anxious  to  know  moi-e.  Indeed  he  had 
not  perhaps  realized  how  strong  and  definite  his  interest 
was  till  he  heard  that  she  wms  going  away  for  a  long  pe¬ 
riod.  Suddenly  it  struck  him  that  the  farm  would  i;e  \ery 
dull  without  this  intei-esliiig  wormin  moving  about  llie 
pla-'O  in  her  silent,  resolute  kind  of  wa.y.  Dp.sle  was,  no 
doubt,  delightful  and  chai  ming  to  look  on.  but  she  liad  not 
got  her  sister’s  brains  ar.d  originality  ;  a.ud  Jt>hn  Nie!  was 
sufficiently  above  the  ordinary  run  to  tlioroug^hly  apiireci- 
ate  intellect  and  originality  in  a  woman,  instead  of  siand- 
ing  aghast  at  it.  Bhe  interested  him  i.itensely,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  and,  man-like,  he  felt  exce;  dingly  ]»ut  oin,  and 
even  sulky,  at  the  idea  of  her  d('))ariurc.  lie  loeivcd  at 
her  in  remonstrance,  and  even,  in  awkwardness  begulien 
of  his  irritation,  knocked  down  ;iu'  '  inegai'  cria't  and 
made  a  mess  upon  the  table;  bur,  she  eva.ded  bis  eyes  and 
took  no  notice  of  the  vinegar.  Then,  f^Hding  iliat  lie  had 
done  all  that  in  him  lay.  he  went  to  see  about  the  ostriches; 
first  of  ail  hanging  about  a  little  to  see  it  Jess  would  come 
tut,  which  she  did  not.  Indeed,  he  saw  noiliing  more  of 
}  er  till  supper-time.  Bessie  told  him  that  .  ho  scdd  .-lie  was 
4. asy  packing;  but,  as  one  can  only  tnk.,^  iv.o.uy  pounds 
weight  of  luggage  in  a  ]>o.st  cart,  this  tbd  .u,c;  (puhe  com 
viuce  him  that  it  was  so  in  fact. 

At  supper  she  was,  if  possible,  even  more  qnioi.  fb.an  slio 
had  been  at  dinner.  After  it  waso\'erbe  a.ske«l  ncr  io.-i.;g, 
but  slie  declined,  sajung  that  she  laid  given  U;.'  siuging  lor 
the  pr<*s(nit,  and  persisting  in  her  stalemeiit  i;  pite  or  the 
ch(''-'i  ;  of  remonstrance  it  aroused.  'I  he  iii.n-  .Uiiy  sing 
Wi.,  ■  .,ney  are  mating;  and  it  is,  by  :■> ,  <t  curious 

f  .ri  suggestive  of  the  theory  tjr  .  -  same  great 


50 


JESS. 


principles  pervade  ail  Hcvttive,  that  Jess,  novr  that  !iss 
trouble  had  overtaken  her,  and  that  she  had  lost  her  lov© 
which  had  suddenly  sprung  from  her  heart— f nil-grown 
and  clad  in  power  as  Athena  sprung  from  the  head  (;£  Jove 
—had  no  further  inclination  to  use  her  divine  gift  of  song. 
It  probably  was  nothing  more  than  a  coincidence,  but  it 
Vvuis  a  curious  one. 

The  arrangement  was,  that  on  the  morrow  J ess  was  to  be 
driven  in  the  Cape  cart  to  Martinus-Wesseistroom,  more 
commonly  called  Wakkerstroom,  and  there  catch  the  post¬ 
cart,  wliich  was  timed  to  leave  the  town  at  middtty,  though 
when  it  would  leave  was  quite  another  matter.  Post-carts 
are  not  particular  to  a  day  or  so  in  the  Transvaal. 

Old  Silas  Croft  was  going  to  drive  her  with  Bessie,  who 
had  some  shopping  to  do  in  Wakkerstroom,  as  ladies  some¬ 
times  have;  but  at  the  last  moment  the  old  man  got  a  pre¬ 
monitory  twinge  of  the  rheumatism,  to  which  he  was  a 
rnartyr/and  could  not  go;  so,  of  course,  John  volunteered, 
and,  though  Jess  raised  some  difficulties,  Bessie  furthered 
the  idea,  and  in  the  end  his  offer  was  accepted. 

Accordingly,  at  half-past  eight  on  a  beautiful  morning 
up  cams  the  touted  cart,  wntli  its  two  massive  wheels,  stout 
stinkwood  disselboom,  and  four  spirited  young  horses;  to 
the  head  of  which  the  Hottentot  Jantje,  assisted  by  the 
Zulu  Mouti,  clad  in  the  sw'eet  simplicity  of  a  moocha,  a 
few  feathers  iu  his  Avoed,  and  a  horn  smiff-hox  stuck 
l.h rough  the  fleshy  part  of  the  ear,  hung  grimly  on.  In 
they  got — Jol'.n  first,  then  Bessie  next  to  him,  then  Jess. 
Next  Jantje  scrambled  up  behind;  and  after  some  pre¬ 
liminary  baclcing  and  plunging,  and  showing  a  disposition 
to  t ’.vine  themselves  affectionately  round  the  orange-trees, 
off  went  theffioAses  at  a  hand  gallop,  and  aw’ay  swung  the 
cart  after  them,  in  a .  fashion  that  would  have  frightened 
anybody,  not  accustomed  to  that  mode  of  progression, 
pretty  ^vell  out  of  his  wits.  As  it  was,  John  had  as  much 
as  he  could  do  to  keep  the  four  horses  together  and  to  pre¬ 
vent  them  from  bolting,  and  this  alone,  ,.to  say  nothing  of 
the  rattling  and  jolting  of  the  vehicle  over  the  uneven 
track,  was  sufficient  to  put  a  stop  to  any  attempt  at  con- 
verstuiou. 

Wakkerstroom  was  about  eighteen  miles  from  Mooifon- 
tein,  a  distance  that  they  covered  well  v  iilii  '.  ;  '  ■ 
hours.  Ilei’e  the  horses  were  outspanned  at  tl;e  huu  i,  and 
John  went  into  the  house  whence  the  post-car'  •• 
and  booked  Jess’ seat,  and  then  joined  tlio  ladi<'s  :  :  the 
Kantoor  or  stoi’e  where  they  were  shopping.  ■  d'.e 

shopping  was  done,  they  went  back  to  the  inn  ;og.'  '  -  A 

had  some  dinner;  by  which  time  the  Hotr.ento:  ■  ; 

the  cart  be^an  to  tjjine  up  lustily,  but  uxuneiotho 


JESSt 


51 


bugle  to  inform  intending  passengers  tliat  it  was  time  to 
start.  Bessie  was  out  of  the  room  at  the  moment,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  a  peculiarly  dirty -looking  coolie 
waiter,  there  was  nobody  about, 

“  How  long  are  von  going  to  be  away,  Miss  Jess?”’  asked 
John. 

“  Two  months  more  or  less,  Captain  Niel.”  • 

“  I  am  vei’y  sorry  that  you  are  going,”  he  saideamestlj^ 
“It  wull  be  very  dull  at  the  farm  without  you.” 

”  There  will  be  Bessie  for  you  to  talk  to,”  she  answered, 
turning  her  face  to  the  window,  and  affecting  to  watch 
the  iiispanning  of  the  post-cart  in  the  yard  on  to  which  it 
looked. 

“  Ca.ptaiii  Kiel,”  she  said  suddenly. 

“Yes.” 

‘  ‘  Mind  you  look  after  Bessie  while  I  am  away.  Listen ! 
1  am  going  to  tell  you  something.  You  know  Prank  Mul¬ 
ler?” 

“Yes,  I  know  him,  and  a  very  disagreeable  fellow  he 

is.  ” 

“Well,  he  threatened  Bessie  the  other  day,  and  he  is  a 
man  who  is  quite  capable  of  carrying  out  a  threat.  I 
can’t  tell  you  anything  more  about  it,  but  I  want  you  to 
promise  me  to  protect  Bessie  if  any  occasion  for  it  should 
arise.  I  do  not  know  that  it  will,  but  it  might.  V/ill  you 
promise?” 

“  Of  course  I  will;  I  would  do  a  great  deal  more  than 
that  if  you  asked  me  to,  Jess.”  he  answei-ed  teuderly,  for 
now  that  she  was  going  away  l\e  felt  curiously  drawn  to¬ 
ward  her,  and  was  anxious  to  show  it.  _ 

“Never  mind  me,”  slio  said,  wuth  an  impatient  littie 
movement.  “Bessie  is  sweet  enough  and  lovely  enough 
to  be  looked  after  for  her  ova  u  sake.  I  should  think.  ” 

Before  he  could  say  any  more,  in  came  Bessie  herself, 
saying  that  the  driver  Vv'as  waiting,  and  they  went  out  to 
see  her  sister  off. 

“Don’t  forget  your  promise,”  Jess  whispered  to  him, 
bending  dov/n,  as  he  helped  her  into  the  cart,  so  low  that 
her  lips  almost  touched  him  and  her  breath  rested  for  a 
second  on  his  clieek  like  the  ghost  of  a  kiss. 

In  another  moment  the  sisters  had  embraced  each  other, 
tenderly  enough;  the  driver  had  sounded  once  more  on  hiS 
awful  bugle,  and  away  went  the  cart  at  full  gallop,  bear- 
iiig  with  it  Jess,  two  other  passengers,  and  lier  majesty  s 
mails.  John  and  Bessie  stood  for  a  moment  v.uitchmg  its 
mad  career,  as  it  went  splashing  and  banging  uown  the 
stravaling  street  toward  the  wide  plains  bnvend.  and  then 
turi.i-d  to  enter  the  inn  again  and  pivi/a.e  !'>r  iueir  home- 
tivard  ‘I 'We.,  Ab  they  did  so,  an  old  J:  '  _  '•amed.Llans 


JESS. 


ff2 


Coctzee,  with  whom  John  was  already  slightly  acquainted, 
came  up,  and  extending  an  enormously  big  and  thick 
hand,  bid  them  “Gooden  daag.”  Hans  Coetzee  was  a 
rery  favoi'able  specimen  of  the  better  sort  of  Boer,  and 
really  came  more  or  less  up  to  t  he  ideal  picture  that  is  so 
often  drawn  of  that  “simple  pastoral  people.”  He  was  a 
very  large,  stout  man,  with  a  fine,  open  face  and  a  pair  of 
kindly  eves.  John,  looking  at  him,  guessed  that  he  could 
not  weigh  less  than  seventeen  stone,  and  he  was  well  within 
the  mark  at  that. 

“How  are  you.  captein?”  he  said  in  English,  for  ho 
could  talk  English  well,  “and  how  do  you  like  the  Trans¬ 
vaal?  must  not  call  it  South  African  Kepublic  now,  you 
know,  for  that's  treason,”  and  his  eye  twinkled  merrily. 

“1  like  it  very  much,  meinheer,,”  said  John. 

“  Ah,  yes,  it's  a  beautiful  veldt,  especially  about  here-^ 
no  horse-sickness,  no  ‘  blue-tongue, ’*  and  a  good  strong 
grass  for  the  cattle.  And  you  must  find  yourself  very 
snug  at  Om  [Uncle]  Croft’s  there;  it’s  the  nicest  place  in 
the  district,  with  the  ostriches  and  all.  Not  that  I  hold 
with  ostriches  in  this  veldt;  they  are  well  enough  in  the 
old  colony,  but  they  won’t  breed  here — at  least,  not  as 
they  should  do.  I  tried  them  once  and  I  know;  oh,  yes,  I 
know.” 

“  Yes,  it,’s  a  very  fine  country,  meinheer.  I  have  been 
all  over  the  world  almost,  and  I  never  saw  a  finer.” 

“  YUu  don’t  say  so,  now!  Almighty,  what  a  thing  it  is 
to  have  traveled!  Not  that  I  should  like  to  travel  myself. 
1  think  that  the  Lord  meant  us  to  stop  in  the  place  He  has 
made  for  us.  But  it  is  a  fine  country,  and  ”  (dropping  his 
voice)  “I  think  it  is  a  finer  country  than  it  used  to  be.” 

“  Y'ou  mean  that  the  veldt  has  got  ‘lame,’  meinheer.” 

“  Nay,  nay.  I  mean  that  the  laud  is  English  now,”  he 
answered,  mysteriously,  “and  though  I  dare  not  say  so 
among  my  volk,  I  hope  that  it  will  keep  English.  When  I 
was  Republican,  I  w^as  Republican,  and  it  was  good  in 
some  ways,  the  republic.  There  was  so  little  to  pay  in 
taxes,  and  we  knew  how  to  manage  the  black  folk;  but 
now  I  am  English,  I  am  English.  I  know  the  English  Gov¬ 
ernment  means  good  money  and  safety,  and  if  there  isn’t 
a  ‘  raad  ’  [assembly]  now,  well,  what  does  it  matter?  Al¬ 
mighty,  how  they  used  to  talk  there! — clack,  clack,  clack! 
just  like  an  old  black  koran  [species  of  bustard]  at  sunset. 
And  where  did  they  run  the  wagon  of  the  republic  to— 
Burgei-s  and  those  damned  Hollanders  of  his,  and  the  rest 
01  ibem?  Why,  into  the  shut— into  a  shut  with  peaty 
banks;  and  tlu're  .it  would  have  stopped  till  now,  or  till  the 
tiood  came  do  vn  and  swept  it  away,  if  old  Shepstone— ah/ 
■sease  that  is  very  fatal  to  sheep. 


JESS. 


m 


‘V'T'nt  a  tongue  that  man  has,  and  how  fond  he  is  of  the 
kin.flerchres!  [little  children] — had  not  come  and  pulled  it 
out  again.  But  look  here,  captein,  the  volk  roiind  here 
don’t  think  hke  that.  It’s  the  ‘  verdomde  Britische  Gouv- 
crnment  ’  here  and  the  ‘  verdomde  Britische  Go’ivernment  ’ 
there,  and  ‘bymakaars’  [meetings]  hero  and  ‘bymakaars’ 
there.  Silly  folk,  they  all  run  one  after  the  other  like 
iSiheep.  But  there  it  is,  captein,  and  I  tell  you  there  will  be 
fighting  before  long,  and  then  our  people  will  shoot  those 
poor  rooibaatjes  [red  jackets]  of  yours  like  buck  and  take 
the  land  back.  Poor  things!  I  could  weep  when  I  think 
of  it.” 

John  smiled  at  this  mela^dcholy  prognostication,  and  w'as 
about  to  explain  wdiat  a  poor  show  all  the  Boers  in  the 
Transvaal  would  makci  iii  front  of  a  few  British  regiments, 
when  ho  was  astonished  by  a  sudden  change  in  his  friend’s 
manner.  Dropping  liis  enormous  paw  on  to  his  shoulder, 
Coetzee  broke  into  a.  bur.st  of  somewhat  forced  merriment, 
the  cause  of  ■which  was,  though  John  did  not  guess  it  at 
the  moment,  that  be  had  just  perceived  Frank  Muller, 
who  was  in  Wakkerstrnnni  wdth  a  waggonload  of  corn  to 
grind  at  the  mill,  standing  within  five  yards,  and  appar¬ 
ently  intensely  interested  in  flipping  at  the  flies  Avith  a 
cow^rie  made  of  the  tail  of  a  vilderbeeste,  but  in  reality 
listening  to  Coetzeo’s  talk  Avith  all  his  ears. 

‘‘  Ha,  ha!  ‘nef’  ”  [nephew],  said  old  Coetzee  to  theaston- 
ished  John,  “no  Avon.der  you  like  Mooifontein — there  are 
other  mooi  [pretty]  things  there  beside  the  Avater.  How 
often  do  you  ‘  opsit  ’  [sit  up  at  night]  with  Uncle  Croft’s 
pretty  girl,  eh?  I'm  not  quite  as  blind  as  an  antbear  yet. 

I  saw  her  blush  Avhen  yoti  spoke  to  her  just  now.  I  saw 
her.  Well,  well,  it  is  a  pretty  game  for  a  young  man, 
isn’t  it,  ‘nef’  Frank?”  (this  Ava^.  addressed  to  Muller). 
*‘I'll  be  bound  the  capteitt  here  ‘burns  a  long  candle’ 
with  pretty  Bessie  every  night,  eh.  Frank?  I  hope  you. 
ain’t  jealous,  ‘nef’?  My  A-rouw  told  me  some  time  ago 
that  30U  Avei-e  SAveet  in  that  direction  yourself;”  and  he 
stopped  at  last,  out  of  breath,  and  looked  anxiously  to¬ 
ward  Muller  for  an  answer,  Avhile  John,  avIio  had  been. 
fioraeAvhat  overwhelmed  at  this  flow  of  bucolic  chaff,  guA^e 
a  sigh  of  relief.  As  for  Muller,  he  behaved  in  a  curioua 
manner.  Instead  of  laughing,  as  the  jolly  old  Boer  had  in¬ 
tended  that  he  should,  he  had,  although  Coetzee  could  not  see 
it,  been  turning  blacker  and  blacker;  and  now  that  the  flow 
of  language  ceased,  he,  with  a  savage  ejaculation  Avhich  J ohn 
could  not  catch,  but  Avhich  he  appeared  to  throw  at  his 
(John’s)  head,  turned  on  his  heel  and  Avent  off  toward  the 
courtyard  of  the  inn. 

“Almighty!”  said  old  Hans,  \viping  his  face  "'i  a  ved 


64 


JESS. 


cotton  post  et-handkerchief ;  “T  have  put,  my  foot  into* 
big  hole.  That  stink  cat  Muller  hea,r.d  all  that  I  was  say¬ 
ing  to  you.  and  I  tell  you  he  will  .save  it  up  and  save  it  up, 
and  oti8  day  he  will  bring  it  all  out  to  the  volk  and  call  me 
a  traitor  to  the  ‘  land  ’  and  ruin  me.  I  know  him.  He 
knows  how  to  balance  a  long  stick  on  Jiis  little  linger  so 
that  the  ends  keep  even.  Oh.  yes,  he  can  ride  two  hoi'ses 
at  once,  and  blow  hot  and  blow  cold.  He  is  a  devil  of  a 
man,  a  devil  of  a  man!  And  what  did  he  mean  by 
swearing  at  you  like  that?  Is  it  about  the  inissio  [girl],  I 
•wonder?  Almighty!  who  can  say?  Ah!  that  reminds 
me — though  I’m  sure  I  don't  know  why  it  should — the 
Kafirs  tell  me  that  there  is  a  big  herd  of  buck — vilder- 
beeste  and  blesbok — on  my  outlying  place  about  an  hour 
and  a  half  [ten  miles]  from  Mooifontein.  Can  you  hold  a 
rifle,  captein?  You  look  like  a  bit  of  a  hunter.” 

“Oh,  yes,  meinheer!”  said  John,  delighted  at  the  pros¬ 
pect  of  some  shooting. 

“  Ah,  I  thought  so.  All  you  English  are  sportsmen,  ■ 
though  you  don’t  know  how  to  kill  buck.  Well  now,  you 
take  Om  Croft’s  light  Scotch  cart  and  two  good  horses,  and 
come  over  to  my  place — not  to-morrow,  -  for  my  wife’s 
cousin  is  coming  to  see  us,  and  an  old  cat  she  is,  but  rich; 
she  has  a  thousand  pounds  in  gold  in  the  •wagon-box  under 
her  bed — nor  the  next  day,  for  it  is  the  Lord ’s.day,  and  one 
can’t  shoot  creatures  on  the  Lord’s  day— but  Monda}  .  yes, 
Monday.  You  be  there  by  eight  o’clock,  and  you  shall  see 
how  to  kill  vilderbeeste.  Almighty !  now  what  can  that 
jackal  Frank  Muller  have  meant?  Ah!  he  is  the  devil  of  a 
man,”  and,  shaking  his  head  ponderously,  the  jolly  old 
Boer  departed,  and  presently  John  saw  him  riding  away 
upon  a  fat  little  shooting  pony  that  cannot  have  weighed 
much  more  than  himself,  ar.d  that  yet  cantered  away  with 
him  on  his  fifteen -mile  journey  as  though  he  were  but  a 
feather  weight. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

J  A  N  T  J  E'  S  STORY. 

Shortly  after  the  old  Boer  had  gone,  John  went  into  the 
yard  of  the  hotel  to  see  to  the  inspanning  of  the  cajie  cart, 
when  his  attention  Avas  at  once  arrested  by  the  sight  of  a 
row  in  active  progress— at  least,  from  the  crowd  of  Kafirs 
and  idlers  and  the  angry  .sounds  and  curses  that  proceeded 
from  them,  he  judged  that  it  Avas  a  row.  Nor  was  hv.- 
■wrong  about  it.  In  the  corner  of  the  yard,  close  by  the 
stable  door,  surrounded  by  the  aforesaid  crowd,  .kood 
Frank  Muller;  a  heavy  sjambock  in  his  rais'-o  band  above 
ais  iiead  y  though  in  the  act  to  strike  ^ 


JESS. 


65 

Vci-y  picture  of  drunken  fui\y,  his  lips  drawn  up  like  a 
snarling  dog’s,  so  that  tlio  two  lines  of  his  white  teeth 
gleamed  like  polished  ivf)ry  in  the  sxinlight.  his  small  eyes 
all  shot  with  blood  and  liis  fa(5e  working  convulsively,  was 
the  Hottentot  Jantje.  Hor  was  this  all.  Across  his  face 
was  a  blue  wheal  whore  the  whip  had  fallen,  and  in  iiis 
hand  a  heavy  white-handled  knife  which  he  always 
carried. 

“Hullo!  what  is  all  this?”  said  John,  shouldcrir.g  his 
way  through  the  crowd. 

‘■Tlie  swartsel  [black  creature]  has  stolen  my  lioi-.se's 
forage  and  given  it  to  yours!”  shouted  Muller,  wlio  was 
evidently  almost  off  his  head  with  rage,  making  an  at¬ 
tempt  to  hit  Jantje  with  the  whip  as  he  spoke.  Tlie  latter 
avoided  the  blow  by  jumping  behind  John,  with  the  result 
that  due  tip  of  the  sjambock  caught  the  Englishman  on  the 
leg. 

“Be  careful,  sir,  with  that  whip,”  said  John  to  Midler, 
restrni’iing  his  temper  with  difficulty.  “Now,  how  do  yot 
know  tliat  the  man  stole  your  horse’s  forage;  and  vhat 
business  have  j’ou  to  touch  him?  If  there  was  anything 
wrong  you  should  have  reported  it  to  me.” 

“He  lies,  Baas,  he  lies!”  yelled  out  the  Hottentot  in 
tremulous,  liigh-pitched  tones.  “He  lies;  he  has  always 
been  a  bar,  and  worse  than  a  liar.  Yah!  yah!  1  can  tell 
things  about  him.  Tbe  land  is  Eiiglish  now,  and  Boers 
can’t  kid  the  black  people  as  they  like.  That  man — that 
Boor,  Mullei',  he  shot  my  father  and  my  mother— my  fa¬ 
ther  first,  fh.cn  my  mother;  he  gave  her  two  bullets— she 
did  noL  die  the  first  time.” 

“Yon.  yellow  devil!  You  black-skinned,  black-heai*ted, 
lying  son  of  Satan!”  roared  the  great  Boer,  his  very  heard 
curling  with  fiuy.  “Is  that  the  way  yon  talk  to  your 
master.s?  Out  of  tho  light,  rooibaatje  ”  [soldier] — this  was 
to  John — “  and  I  wall  cut  his  tongue  out  of  him.  I’ll  siiow 
how  we  deal  witli  a  ,yeilow  liar;”  and  without  further  ado 
he  made  a  rusli  for  tho  Hottentot.  As  he  came,  John, 
whose  blood  was  now  thoroughly  up,  put  out  his  open 
hand,  and,  be.ndiiig  forward,  pushed  with  all  his  strength 
on  Midler's  advancing  chest.  John  Avas  a  very  po'.verlully 
made  man,  { hough  not  a  very  large  one,  and  the  pusli  sent 
Muller  staggering  back. 

“Y/hat  (io  you  mean  h\'  that,  rooibaatje?”  shouited 
Muller,  his  face  livid  with  fui-y.  “Get  out  of  my  road,  or 
I  will  mark  that  pretty  face  of  yours.  I  have  some  goods 
to  pay  you  for  as  it  is,  Englishman,  and  I  always  ’in;,  my 
debts.  Out  of  the  path,  cui’se  jou!”  and  he  agma  ruslieu 
for  the  Hottentot, 

This  time  John,  who  Avas  now  almost  as  a'  g.  «  his  as-- 


66 


JESS. 


Bailant,  did  not  wait  for  him  to  reach  him,  hut,  springing 
forward,  hooked  his  arm  around  Muller’s  throat,  and.  be¬ 
fore  he  could  close  with  him,  Avith  one  tremendous  jerk 
managed  not  only  to  stop  his  wild  career,  but  to  reverse 
the  motion,  and  then,  by  interposing  his  foot  with  consid¬ 
erable  neatness,  to  land  him — powerful  man  as  he  Avas--oii 
his  back  in  a  pool  of  drainage  that  had  collected  from  the 
stable  in  a  hollow  of  the  inn  yard.  Down  lie  Avent  with  a 
splash,  and  amid  a  shout  of  delight  from  the  ci’owd,  A\'ho 
always  like  to  see  an  aggressor  laid  low,  his  head  bumping 
Avith  considerable  force  against  the  lintel  of  the  door.  For 
a  moment  he  lay  still,  and  John  Avas  a,fraid  that  the  man 
was  really  hurt.  Presenth^,  hoAvever,  he  rose,  and,  with¬ 
out  attempting  any  further  hostile  dcmonsti’ation  or  say¬ 
ing  a  single  word,  tramped  off  towai’d  the  house,  leaving 
his  enemy  to  compose  his  ruffled  neiwes  as  best  he  could. 
Now  John,  like  most  gentlemen,  hated  a  roAv  Avith  all  his 
heart,  though  he  had  tlie  Anglo-Saxon  tendency  to  go 
through  with  it  untliiichingly  when  once  it  began.  Indeed, 
theAvhole  thing  irritated  him  almost  beyond  bearin»g,  for  he 
kncAv  that  the  story  would  Avith  additions  go  the  round  of 
the  country-side,  and,  what  is  more,  that  he  had  made  a 
poAvorCul  and  implacable  enemy. 

•'  This  is  ail  your  fault,  you  drunken  little  blackguaj’d  !” 
he  said,  turning  savagely  on  the  Tottie,  Avho,  nov*’^  that  Ids 
Bxcitemeut  had  left  liirn.  Avas  sniveling  aiid  driA'eling  iu  an 
intoxicated  fashion,  and  calling  him  his  preserver  and  his 
Baas  in  maudlin  accents. 

“lie  hit  me.  Baas;  he  hit  me,  and  I  did  not  take  the 
forage.  He  is  a  bad  man.  Baas  Muller.” 

“  Be  off  Avith  you,  and  get  the  horses  inspanned;  you  are 
half  drunk,”  he  groAvled.  and,  having  seen  the  operation 
adA  ancing  to  a  conclusion,  he  Avent  to  the  sitting  room  of 
the  hotel.  Avhere  Bessie  Avas  Avaiting  in  happy  ignorance  of 
the  disturbrmce.  It  Avas  not  till  they  Avere  Avell  on  their 
homcAvard  Avay  that  he  told  her  Avhat  had  passed,  whereat, 
remembering  tlie  scene  she  had  herself  gone  through  Avith 
Frank  Muller,  and  the  threats  that  he  ha.d  then  made  use 
of,  she  looked  A  eiw  gi  aAm.  Her  old  uncle,  too,  Avas  much 
put  out  wlieu  he  heard  the  story  on  tlndr  arrival  home  that 
evening. 

‘'You  have  made  an  enemy.  Captain  Niel,”  he  said, 
“and  a  bad  one.  Not  but  what  you  were  right  to  stand 
up  for  the  Hottentot.  I  Avould  haAm  done  as  much  my¬ 
self  had  I  been  there  and  ten  years  younger,  but  Frank 
Muller  is  not  the  man  to  forget  being  put  upon  kis 
back  before  a  lot  of  Kafirs  and  white  folk  too.  l-'erlutiAS 
that  JanJje  is  sober  by  now.”  This  coiiA^er.sation  took 
place  ■  ^  '  the  folio Aving  morning,  as  they  satjapini  the 


JESS. 


67 


^eran'da  after  breakfast.  “  I  will  go  and  call  him.  and 
we  will  hear  what  this  story  is  about  his  father  and  his 
mother.” 

Presently  he  returned,  followed  by  the  ragged,  dirty- 
booking  little  Hottentot.  Avho  took  off  his  hat  and  squatted 
down  on  the  drive,  looking  veiy  miserable  and  ashamed  of 
himself,  in  the  full  glare  of  the  African  sun,  to  the  effects 
of  which  he  appeared  to  be  totally  impervious. 

‘  Now,  Jantje,  listen  to  me,”  said  the  old  man.  “Yes- 
tei’day  you  got  drunk  again.  Well,  I’m  not  going  to  talk 
about  that  no^v,  except  to  say  that  if  I  find  or  hear  of  your 
being  drunk  once  more,  you  leave  this  place.” 

”  Yes,  Baas,”  said  the  Hottentot,  meekly,  ‘‘I  was  drunk, 
though  not  very;  I  only  had  half  a  bottle  of  Cape  smoke.” 

”  By  getting  drunk  you  made  a  quarrel  with  Baas  Mul¬ 
ler,  so  that  blows  passed  between  Baas  Muller  and  the  Baas 
here  on  your  account,  which  was  more  than  you  are  worth. 
Now  when  Baas  Muller  had  struck  you,  you  said  that  he 
had  sliot  your  father  and  your  mother.  Was  that  a  lie,  or 
what  did  you  mean  by  saying  it?” 

“  It  was  no  lie.  Baas,”  said  the  Hottentot  excitedly.  ”  J 
have  said  it  once,  and  I  will  say  it  again.  Listen,  Baas, 
and  I  will  tell  you  the  story.  Y7hen  I  Avas  young — so 
high”~and  he  held  his  hand  high  enough  to  indicate  a 
Tottie  of  about  fourteen  years  of  age — ‘‘Ave,  that  is,  my 
father,  m_y  moiher,  my  uncle — a  very  old  man,  older  than 
the  Baas  ”  (pointing  to  Silas  Croft)  —  ”  were  bijwoners  [au¬ 
thorized  squatters)  on  a  place  belonging  to  old  Jacob  Mul¬ 
ler,  Baas  Frank’s  father,  down  in  Lydenburg  yonder.  It 
was  a  bush- veldt  farm,  and  old  Jacob  used  to  come  down 
there  with  his  cattle  from  the  higli  veldt  in  the  Avinter, 
when  there  was  no  grass  in  the  high  veldt,  and  Avith  him 
came  the  Englishwoman,  his  Avife,  and  the  young  Baas 
Frank — the  Baas  we  saw  yesterday.” 

”  How  long  was  all  this  ago?”  asked  Mr.  Croft. 

Jantje  counted  on  his  lingers  for  some  seconds,  and  then 
held  up  his  hand  and  opened  it  four  times  in  succession. 
“So,”  he  said,  "twenty  years  last  Avinter.  Baas  Frank 
Avas  young  then,  he  had  only  a  little  doAvn  u])on  liis  chin. 
One  year  when  Om  Jacob  Avent  away,  after  the  first  rains, 
he  left  six  oxen  tliat  Avere  too  poor  [thin]  to  go,  Avitli  my 
father,  and  told  him  to  look  after  them  as  tliough^they 
were  his  childi’en.  But  the  ox(3n  Avere  bewitched.  Three 
of  them  took  the  lungsick  and  died,  a  lion  g\)t  one,  a  snake 
killed  one,  and  one  ate  a  ‘  tulip  ’  and  died  too.  So  wlien 
Om  Jacob  came  back  the  next  year  all  the  oxen  were  gone. 
He  was  A'ery  angry  Avith  my  father,  and  beat  him  with  a 
yoke  strap  till  he  was  all  blood,  and  though  we  showed  hmi 


68  JJESS. 

ifoe  bones  of  tne  oxen,  he  said  that  we  had  stolen  them  ansi 
sold  -chern. 

Now  Om  Jacol)  had  a  beautiful  span  of  black  oxen  tiiafc 
he  loved  like  children.  Sixteen  of  them  were  ihere,  aiid 
they  would  come  up  to  the  yoke  Avheu  he  called  them  and 
put  do\vn  their  heads  of  themselves.  Tl)oy  Vvcre  tame  as 
do2:s.  These  oxen  were  tluu  wlien  they  came  down,  but  in 
two  mont.hs  they  got  £;\t  and  began  to  want'  to  trek  about 
as  oxen  do.  At  tliis  time  there  was  a  Basutu,  one  of  Se- 
quati’s  jveople,  resting  in  our  hut.  for  he  luui  hurt  his  foot 
with  a  thorn.  When  Om  Jacob  found  that  i  ho  Ba.sutu  Avas 
there  he  xvas  very  angry,  for  he  said  that  all  Basutus  were 
thie^^es. 

“  Bo  my  father  told  the  Basutu  that  the  Baas  said  that  he 
must  go  aAvay,  and  he  went  that  night.  Next  moriiiug  tlio 
span  of  black  oxen  were  gone  too.  The  kraal  gate  was 
down,  and  they  had  gone.  We  lmnie<l  all  dat'.  but  Ave 
could  not  find  them.  Then  Om  Jacob  got  snail  with 
rage,  and  tlie  young  Ba.as  Frank  told  him  that  one  of 
the  Kafir  boys  had  said  to  him  that  he  had  heard  my 
fatlrer  sell  them  to  the  Basutu  for  sheep  Avliich  he  Avas  to  pay 
to  us  in  the  summer.  It  was  a  he,  but  Baas  Frank  hsrtcd 
my  father  because  of  something  about  a  woman— a 
Zulu  girl.  Next  moiuiing  when  we  were  asleep,  just  at 
da}' break,  Om  Jacob  Muller  and  Baas  Fraulr  and  tAvo 
Kafirs  came  isito  the  hut  and  pulled  us  out,  the  old  nsan  my 
uncle,  my  father,  my  mother,  and  myself,  and  lied  ns  up 
to  fmsr  mimosa-trees  with  buffalo  reisns.  Then  tlse  Kafirs 
went  RAvay,  and  Om  Jacob  asked  my  father  where  the  cat¬ 
tle  Avere,  and  rny  father  told  him  that  ho  did  not  know. 
Then  he  took  off  his  hat  aiid  said  a  i)rayer  to  the  Big  Man 
in  the  sky,  and  Avheu  he  had  done  Baas  Frank  came  up 
with  a  gun  and  stood  quite  close  and  shot  my  father  dead, 
and  he  fell  forward  and  hung  quiet  over  the  reim,  his  head 
touching  his  feet.  Then  he  loaded  the  gnu  again  and  shot 
the  old  man  my  uncle,  and  lie  slipped  down  dead,  and  his 
hands  stuck  up  in  the  air  against  the  reim.  Next  he  shot 
rny  mother,  bub  the  bullet  did  not  kill  her,  and  cut  the 
reim,  and  she  ran  away,  and  he  ran  after  her  and  killed 
her.  When  that  Avas  done  he  came  back  to  shoot  me;  but 
I  was  young  then,  and  did  not  know  that  it  is  better  to  be 
dead  than  to  live  like  a  dog.  and  I  begged  and  prayed  for 
mercy  while  he  was  loading  the  gun. 

But  the  Baas  only  laughed,  and  said  he  would  teacii 
Hottentots  hoA'/  to  steal  cattle,  and  old  Om  Jacob  prayed 
out  loud  to  the  Big  Man  and  said  he  was  A'ery  sorry  I'or  mo, 
but  it  Avas  the  aear  Lord’s  will.  And  then,  just  as  Baaa 
Frank  lifted  the  gun,  he  dropped  it  again,  for  there,  com¬ 
ing  softly,  softly  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  in  niut,  out  b9* 


JESS, 


m 

tween  the  bushes,  were  all  -the  sixteen  oxen?  They  had 
got  out  in  the  night  and  strayed  away  into  some  kloof 
for  a  cliange  of  pasture,  and  come  back  when  they  were 
full  and  tired  of  being  alone.  Om  Jacob  turned  quite 
wlute  and  scratched  his  head,  and  then  fell  upon  his 
knees  and  thanked  the  dear  Lord  for  saving  my  life;  and 
just  then  the  Englishwoman,  Baas  Frank’s  mother,  came 
down  from  the  wagon  to  see  what  the  firing  was  at,  and 
w’hen  she  saw  all  the  people  dead  and  me  v/eeping  tied  to  the 
tree,  and  learn’ t  what  it  was  about,  she  went  quite  mad, 
for  sometimes  she  had  a  kind  heart  ’\vhen  she  was  not  drunk, 
and  said  that  a  curse  would  fall  on  them,  and  that  they 
v/ould  all  die  in  blood.  And  she  took  a  knife  and  cut  me 
loose,  though  Baas  Frank  wanted  to  kill  me,  so  that  I 
might  lell  no  tales;  and  I  ran  away,  traveling  by  night 
and  hiding  by  day,  for  I  was  very  much  frightened,  till  I 
got  to  Natal,  and  there  I  stopped,  working  in  Natal  till 
the  land  became  English,  whoa  Baas  Croft  hired  me  to 
drive  his  c;art  up  from  Maritzburg;  and  living  by  here  I 
found  Baas  Frank,  looking  bigger  but  just  the  same  except 
for  his  beard. 

■‘There,  Baas,  that  is  the  truth,  and  all  tlie  truth,  and 
that  is  why  I  hate  Baas  Frank,  because  he  shot  my  father 
and  mother,  and  w’hy  Baas  Frank  hates  me,  because  he 
cannot  forget  that  he  did  it  and  bijoause  I  sa'.v  liim  do  it, 
for,  as  our  people  say,  ‘  one  al’wuiys  hates  a  ma,n  one  has 
wounded  with  a  spear ”  and  having  finished  his  narra¬ 
tive,  the  miserable  looking  little  man  picked  up  his  greasy 
old  felt  hat  that  had  a  leather  strap  fixed  round  the  crown, 
in  which  were  stuck  a  couple  of  frayed  ostrich  feathers, 
and  jammed  it  dowui  over  his  ears,  and  then  fell  to  draw¬ 
ing  circles  on  the  soil  with  his  long  toes.  His  auditors  only 
looked  at  one  another.  '  Such  a  ghastly  tale  seemed  to  be 
beyond  comment.  They  never  doubted  its  truth;  the 
man’s  way  of  telling  it  carried  conviction  with  it.  And, 
indeed,  two  of  them  at  any  rate  had  heard  such  stories 
bi.'fore.  Most  people  have  who  live  in  the  wilder  parts 
of  South  Africa,  though  they  are  not  all  to  be  taken  for 
gospel. 

“You  say,’’  remarked  old  Silas,  at  last,  “that  the 
woman  said  that  a  curse  would  fall  on  them  and  tliat  they 
would  die  in  blood?  She  was  right.  Twelve  years  ago  Om 
Jacob  and  his  wife  were  murdered  by  a  party  of  Mapoch’s 
Kafirs  down  on  the  edge  of  that  very  Lydenburg  veldt. 
There  was  a  great  noise  about  it  at  the  time,  I  remem¬ 
ber,  but  nothing  came  of  it.  Baas  Frank  was  not  there. 
He  was  away  shooting  buck,  so  he  e.scapi’d.  and  in¬ 
herited  all  his  father’s  farms  and  cattle  and  c  '  to  live 
here.” 


t/£!Si3, 


“So,”  said  tiife  Hottentot,  without  showing  me  slighest 
interest  or  surprise.  “I  knew  it  would  be  so,  but  I  wi.sli  1 
had  been  there  to  see  it.  I  .saw  that  there  was  a  de\’il  in 
the  woman,  and  that  they  would  die  as  she  said.  When 
there  is  a  devil  in  people  they  always  speak  the  truth,  be¬ 
cause  they  can’t  help  it.  Look,  Bass,  I  draw  a  circle  in  the 
sand  with  1113"  foot,  and  I  say  soine  words  so,  and  at  last 
the  ends  touch.  There,  that  is  the  circle  of  Oin  Jacob 
and  his  wife,  the  Englishwoman.  The  ends  have  touched 
and  they  are  dead.  An  old  witch-doctor  taught  me  how 
to  draw  the  circle  of  a  man’s  life  and  wliat  words  to  say. 
And  now  I  draw  another  of  Baas  Frank.  All  I  tliere  is  a 
stone  sticking  iij)  in  the  wa^'’.  The  ends  will  not  touch. 
But  now  I  work,  and  work,  and  work  with  niy  foot,  and 
say  the  words,  and  say  the  words,  and  so — the  stone 
comes  up  and  the  ends  touch  now.  So  it  is  with  Baas 
Frank.  One  da}' the  .stone  will  come  up  and  the  ends  will 
touch,  and  he  too  v.-ill  die  in  bJood.  The  devil  in  the  En¬ 
glishwoman  said  so.  and  devils  cannot  lie  or  speak  half  the 
,truth  only.  And  now,  look,  I  rub  rn}^  foot  o\  er  the  cir¬ 
cles  and  they  are  gone,  and  there  is  only  the  path  again. 
That  means  that  when  they  have  died  in  biotnl  the}'  willba 
quite  forgotten  and  stamped  out.  Even  their  graves  Avill 
be  flat,”  and  he  wrinkled  up  his  3'ellow  face  into  a  smile, 
or  rather  a  grin,  and  then  added  in  a  matter  of-fact 
way : 

“  Does  the  Baas  wish  the  gray  mare  to  have  one  bundla 
of  green  forage  or  two?” 


CHAPTER  X. 

JOHN  HAS  AN  E.SCAPE. 

On  the  following  Monday,  John,  taking  Jantje  to  drive 
him,  departed  in  a  rough  Scotch  cart,  to  which  a  ere  bar- 
ne.ssed  tAvo  of  the  best  horses  at  Mooifontoi.i,  to  dioot  buck 
at  Hans  Coetzee's. 

He  reached  the  place  at  about  half-past  eiglit,  and  con¬ 
cluded,  from  the  fact  of  the  presence  of  ;.e\  eral  eai'ts  and 
horses,  that  he  was  not  the  onlv  gue.st.  Indeed,  the  first 
person  that  he  saw  as  the  cart  pulled  up  was  his  late  enemy, 
Frank  Muller. 

“Kek  [look],  Baas,”  said  Ja.titje,  “  tlici  e  Is  B.i  .s  Frank 
talking  to  a  Basutu  !” 

John  was,  as  ma}'  be  imagined,  not  host  plea.sed  at  tills 
meeting.  He  had  always  disliked  tlio  man,  and  since 
Muller's  conduct  on  the  previous  .Fihday,  and  Jantje’s 
8tor.y  of  the  dark  deed  of  blood  in  Avliich  he  had  been  the 
principal  actor,  he  positively  loathed  tlie  siglit  of  him.  He 
got  out  of  the  cart,  and  was  going  to  walk  round  to  the 


JESS. 


61 


bade  of  the  house  in  order  to  avoid  him,  when  hTuller.  to 
all  ;’o '-pea  rail  CO,  suddenly  became  aware  of  his  pres(aic<.'..  and 
ad\aiiCcd  to  Uioet  him  with  the  utmost  cordiality. 

‘‘blow  do  you  do,  captain?”  he  said,  holding  out  his 
hand,  which  John  just  touched.  ”  So  you  liave  come  to 
shoot  buck  with  Oni  Coetzee;  going  to  show  us  Trans- 
vaalers  how  to  do  it,  eh?  There,  captain,  don’t  look  as  stiff 
as  a  rifle  b.arrel.  I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of;  that 
little  business  at  Wakkerstroorn  on  Frida.y,  is  it  not? 
Well,  now,  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  I  was  in  the  wrong,  and  1 
ain’t  afraid  to  say  so  as  between  man  and  man.  I  had  had 
a  glass,  that  was  the  fact,  and  did  not  quite  know  what  I 
was  about.  We  have  got  to  live  as  neighbors  here,  so  let 
us  forget  all  about  it  and  be  brothers  again.  I  never  bear 
malice,  not  I.  It  is  not  the  Lord’s  will  that  we  should  bear 
malice.  Hit  out  from  the  shoulder,  I  say,  and  then  forget 
all  about  it.  If  it  hadn’t  been  for  that  little  monlcey, ”  he 
added,  jerking  his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  Jantje,  who 
was  holding  the  horses’  heads,  ”  it  would  never  have  liap- 
peued,  and  it  is  not  nice  that  two  Christians  should  quarrel 
about  such  as  he.” 

lluiler  jerkeP  out  this  long  speech  in  a  succession  of  sen¬ 
tences,  something  as  a  schoolboy  repeats  a  hardly  learnt 
lesson,  fidgeting  his  feet  and  letting  his  restless  eyes  travel 
about  the  ground  as  he  <iid  so;  and  it  was  evident  to  John, 
who  stood  quite  still  and  listened  to  it  in  icy  silence,  t  hat  it 
was  by  no  means  an  extcig.norary  one.  It  liad  too  clearly 
been  composed  for  the  occasion. 

“I  do  not  wish  to  q^uarrel  with  anybody,  Meinheer  Mul¬ 
ler,”  he  answered  at  length.  “I  never  do  quarrel  unless  it 
is  forced  on  me,  and  then,”  he  added,  grimly,  ”  I  do  my 
best  to  make  it  unpleasant  for  my  enemy.  I'he  otlier  day 
you  attacked  first  my  servant  and  then  myself.  I  am  glad 
that  you  now  see  that  this  was  an  improper  thing  to  do, 
and.  so  far  as  I  a,m  concerned,  there  is  an  end  of  the  mat¬ 
ter,’’  and  he  turned  to  enter  the  house. 

Muller  accompanied  him  as  far  as  where  Jantje  was 
standing  at  the  horses’  heads.  Here  he  stopped,  and.  put¬ 
ting  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  took  out  a  two-shilling  piece 
aiul  threw  it  to  the  Hottentot,  calling  to  him  to  catch  it. 

Jantje  was  holding  the  horses  with  one  hand.  In  the 
other  he  held  his  stick— a  long  walking  kerrie  that  he  al- 
■ways  carried,  the  same  on  which  he  had  shown  Bessie  the 
notches.  In  order  to  catch  the  piece  of  money  he  droppem 
the  stick,  aiul  Muller's  quick  eye  catching  sight  of  the 
riolCi!e>.  beneath  the  knob,  he  stooped  down,  p/icked  it  up, 
and  i  xa mined  it. 

”  'Vi;at  do  these  mean,  boy?”  he  asked,  pointing  to  the 


63 


JFS&. 


line  of  bfg  nua  nttle  notches,  some  of  which  had  eviJontlj 
been  cm  >  e;u>3  ago. 

Janije  touched  his  hat,  spat  upon  the  “  Scotchniau,  ”  as 
the  natives  of  tliat  part  of  Africa  call  a  two-shiiling  piece,’*' 
and  pocketed  it  before  he  answered.  The  fact  that  the 
.giver  had  murdered  all  his  near  relations  did  not  niaiiO  the 
gift  less  desirable  in  his  eyes.  Hottentot  moral  sense  is  not 
very  elevated. 

“No,  Baas,’’  he  said,  Avith  a  curious  grin,  “  that  is  how 
I  reckon.  If  anybody  beats  Jantje,  Jantje  cuts  a  notch 
upon  the  stick,  and  every  night  before  he  goes  to  sleep  he 
looks  at  it  and  says,  ‘One  day  you  will  strike  that  man 
twice  who  struck  you  once,’  and  so  on,  Baas.  Look  what 
a  line  of  them  there  are,  li^s.  One  day  I  shall  pay  them 
all  back  again.  Baas  Frank.” 

Muller  abruptly  dropped  the  stick,  and  followed  John 
toward  the  house.  It  was  a  much  better  building  than  the 
Boers  generally  indulge  in,  and  the  sitting-room,  though 
innocent  of  flooring— unless  clay  and  cowdung  mixed  can 
be  called  a  floor — was  more  or  less  covered  with  mats  made 
of  springbuck  skins.  In  the  center  of  the  room  was  a  table 
made  of  the  pretty  “  buckenhout  ”  wood,  which  has  the 
appearance  of  having  been  industriously  pideked  all  over 
with  a  darning-needle,  and  round  it  were  chairs  aiid 
couches  made  of  stink  wood,  and  seated  with  rimpis  or 
strips  of  hide. 

In  one  big  chair  at  the  end  of  the  room,  busily  employed 
iii  doing  nothing,  sat  Tanta  [Aunt j  Coetzee,  t  he  wife  of  Old 
Hans,  a  large  and  weighty  wmman,  who  had  evidently'  once 
been  rather  handsome;  and  on  the  couches  rverc  some 
half-dozen  Boers,  their  rifles  in  their  hands  or  between 
their  knees. 

It  struck  John  as  he  entered  that  some  of  these  did  not 
look  best  pleased  to  see  him.  and  he  thought  he  heard  one 
young  fellow,  with  a  hang  dog  expression  of  face.  mi'Cter 
something  about  the  “damned  Englishman”  to  his  neigh¬ 
bor  rather  more  loudly  than  was  necessary  to  convey  his 
sentiments.  However,  old  Coetzee  came  forward  lo  greet 
him  heartily  enough,  and  called  to  his  daughters — t we  fine 
girls,  very  smartly  dressed  for  Dutch  Avomen — to  gi  ve  the 
captain  a  cup  of  coffee.  Then  John  made  the  round--  after 
the  Boer  fashion,  and  beginning  Avith  the  old  'ad;,  in  the 
chair,  received  a  lymphatic  shake  of  the  ha.ud  froin  c.  ery 
single  soul  iu  the  room.  They  did  not  rise— it  is  nv-r,  cus- 
tomar}^  to  do  so — they  merely  extended  their  pavv>,  all  of 
them  more  or  less  damp,  and  muttered  the  mystic  monosyl- 

P.poause  onco  upon  a  time  a  Scotchman  made  a  great  imr-r'  -  ’  ’'  on 
(ne  simple  native  mind  in  Natal  by  palming  off  some  Ihousauvi  auinsi 
among  them  at  the  norainaj  vah’e  of  half  a  crown. 


JESS. 


63 


!ab]<'  ‘'Daag."  short  for  good-day.  It  is  a  very  tryiag 
ceremony  till  one  gets  used  to  it,  and  John  pulled  up  pant¬ 
ing.  to  be  presented -wdth  a  cup  of  hot  coffee  that  ho  did 
ry  not  want,  but  which  it  would  be  rude  not  to  drink. 

“The  captain  is  a  rooibaat  je,  ’ '  said  the  old  lady  “Aunt  " 
Coeizee,  interrogatively,  and  yet  wdth  the  certainty  of  one 
who  states  a  fact. 

John  signified  that  he  v/as. 

“What  does  the  captain  come  to  the  ‘  land  ’  for?  Is  it  to 
spy?’’ 

The  whole  room  listened  attentively  to  their  hostess’ 
question,  and  then  turned  their  heads  to  listen  for  the  an¬ 
swer. 

“  No.  I  have  come  to  farm  with  Silas  Croft.” 

There  was  a  general  smile  of  incredulity.  Could  a 
rooibaat  je  farm?  Certainly  not. 

“There  are  three  thousand  men  in  the  British  arm^^,” 
announced  the  old  vrouw  oracularly,  and  casting  a  sevei-e 
glance  at  the  wolf  in  sheep’s  clothing,  the  man  of  blood 
who  pretended  to  farm. 

jEverybody  looked  at  John  again,  and  awaited  his  an¬ 
swer  in  dead  silence. 

“  There  are  nearly  a  hundred  thousand  men  in  the  regu¬ 
lar  British  army,  and  as  many  more  in  the  Indian  army, 
and  twice  as  many  more  volunteers,”  he  said,  in  a  rather 
irritated  voice. 

This  statement  also  was  received  with  the  most  discour¬ 
aging  incredulity. 

“There  are  three  thousand  men  in  the  British  army,” 
repeated  the  old  lady,  in  a  tone  of  certainty  that  was  posi¬ 
tively  crushing. 

“Yah,  yah^”  chimed  in  some  of  the  younger  men  in 
chorus. 

“  There  are  three  thousand  men  in  the  British  army,” 
sh('  repeated  for  the  third  time  in  triumph.  “If  the  cap¬ 
tain  says  that  there  are  more  he  lies.  It  is  natural  that 
he  should  lie  about  his  own  army.  My  grandfather's 
brother  was  at  Cape  Town  in  the  time  of  Governor  Smitli, 
and  he  saw  thp  whole  British  army.  He  counted  them; 
there  were  exactly  three  thousand.  I  say  that  there  are 
three  tliousand  men  in  the  British  army.” 

“Yah.  yah!”  said  the  chorus;  and  John  gazed  at  tni.s 
terrible  person  in  bland  exasperation. 

“  How  raan^V  men  do  you  command  in  the  Britisa 
army?’’  she  interrogated  abter  a  solemn  pause. 

“  A  hundred,”  said  John  sharply. 

“Girl,”  said  the  old  w'oman,  addressing  one  of  her 
daughters,  “you  have  been  to  school  reckon. 


64 


JESS. 


Hi’ov  manv  times  does  one  hundred  go  into  three  th.opr 
sand?’’ 

T!ie  young  lady  addi-essed  giggled  confusedly,  and  looked 
for  assistance  to  a  sardonic  young  Boer  whom  she  was 
gcing  to  marry,  who  shook  his  head  sadly,  indicating 
thereby  that  these  were  mysteries  into  which  it  was  not 
well  to  pry.  Thrown  on  her  own  resources,  the  young 
lady  plunged  into  the  recesses  of  an  intricate  calculation, 
in  wliich  herfiugei’s  played  a  considerable  part,  and  finally, 
with  an  air  of  triumph,  announced  that  it  w^ent  twenty-six 
tiines  exactly. 

“  Yah.  yah!”  said  the  chorus,  ”  it  goes  twenty-six  times 
exactly.” 

■‘'the  captain,”  said  the  oracular  old  lady,  who  was  rap¬ 
idly  driving  John  mad,  “Commands  a  twenty-sixth  part 
of  t!ie  British  army,  and  he  says  that  he  comes  here  to 
farm  with  Uncle  Silas  Croft.  He  says,”  she  went  on,  with 
wuthering  contempt,  “that  he  comes  here  to  farm  when  he 
commands  a  twenty-sixth  part  of  the  British  army.  It  is 
evident  that  he  lies.” 

“Yah,  yah!”  said  the  chorus. 

“  It  is  natural  that  he  should  lie,”  she  continued;  “all 
Bnglishmea  lie,  especially  the  rooibaatje  Englishman,  but 
he  should  not  lie  so  badly.  It  must  vex  the  dear  Lord  to 
hear  a  man  he  so  badly,  even  though  he  be  an  Englishman 
and  a  rooibaatje, ” 

At  this  pnint  John  burst  from  the  house,  and  swore  fran¬ 
tically  to  himself  as  soon  as  he  got  outside;  and,  really,  it 
is  to  bo  hoped  that  he  was  forgivmn,  for  the  provocation 
was  not  small.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  be  universally  set 
down  not  only  as  a  “leugenaar”  [liar],  but  as  one  of  the 
very  feeblest  order. 

In  anotlier  minute  old  Hans  Coetzee  came  out  and  patted 
him  vaarmly  on  tne  shoulder,  in  a  Avay  that  seemed  to  say 
that,  whatever  others  might  think  of  the  insufficiency  of 
his  powers  of  falsehood,  he,  for  one,  quite  appreciated 
th  am,  and  announced  that  it  Avas  time  to  be  moving. 

Accordingly  the  Avhole  party  got  into  their  carts  or  on  to 
their  shooting-horses,  as  the  case  .might  be,  and  started. 
Frank  Mullei  Avas,  John  noticed,  mounted  as  usual  on  his 
fine  black  horse.  After  driAung  for  more  than  half  an 
hour  along  an  indefinite  kind  of  wagon-track,  the  leading 
cart,  in  which  was  old  Hans  Coetzee  himself,  a  Malay 
di  iA'er,  and  a  colored  Cape  boy,  turned  to  the  left  across 
the  open  Amldt,  and  the  others  followed  in  turn.  This  went 
on  for  some  time,  till  at  last  they  reached  the  crest  of  a 
rise  that  commanded  a  large  SAveep  of  open  country,  and 
here  Hans  halted  and  held  up  his  hand,  Avhereou  the  others 
halted  ior.  On  looking  out  over  the  vast  plain  befo^’c  him 


JESS. 


•>3 


John  discovered  the  reason.  About  half  a  mile  bensath 
them  was  a  f2:reat  nerd  of  blesbnck  feeding,  three  hundred 
or  more  of  tliein.  and  beyond  tl'.em  again  another  herd  of 
some  sixty  or  se\'eiity  much  larger  and  wilder  looking  ani- 
mabs  with  wliite  tails,  v.diich  John  at  once  recognized  as 
vilderbeesto.  Kcarer  to  them  again,  dotted  about  here  and 
there  on  the  plaiii,  were  a  couple  of  dozen  or  so  of  graceful 
yellow  springbuck. 

Then  a  council  of  war  Avas  held,  Avbich  resulted  in  the 
men  on  hoi’sebnck  — among  whom  was  hrank  Muller — being 
despatched  to  circumvent  the  herds  and  drive  them  toward 
the  carts,  that  took  up  their  stations  at  various  points,  to¬ 
ward  which  the  buck  were  likely  to  make. 

Then  came  a  pause  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,  till 
suddenly,  from  the  far  ridge  of  the  opposite  slope,  John 
saw  a  couple  of  puffs  of  white  smoke  float  up  into  the  air, 
and  one  of  the  vilderbeeste  below  roll  over  on  to  his  back, 
kicking  and  plunging  furiously.  Thereon  tlie  whole  lierd 
of  buck  turned  and  came  thundering  toward  them, 
■stretched  in  a  long  line  across  the  wide  veldt;  the  spring¬ 
buck  first,  then  the  blesbnck,  looking,  owing  to  their  pecu¬ 
liar  way  of  holding  their  long  heads  down  as  thej^  galloped, 
for  all  the  world  like  a  herd  of  great  bearded  goats.  Be¬ 
hind  and  mixed  up  with  tliem  were  the  A'ilderbeeste,  who 
twisted  and  turned,  and  jumped  into  the  air  as  though 
they  had  gone  clean  off  their  lieads  and  were  next  second 
going  clean  on  to  them.  It  is  vci’}^  difficult,  owing  to  his 
extraordinary  method  of  progression,  to  distinguish  one 
part  of  a  galloping  vilderbeeste  from  another;  now  it  is  liis 
iiorns,  now  his  tail,  and  now  his  hoofs  that  present  them¬ 
selves  to  the  Avatcher’s  bewildered  vision,  and  noAv  again 
they  all  seem  to  be  mixed  up  together.  On  came  the  great 
herd,  making  the  ground  shake  beneath  their  footfall:  and 
after  them  galloped  the  mounted  Boers,  every  now  and 
again  jumping  from  their  horses  to  fire  a  sliot  into  the  line 
of  game,  Avhich  generally  resulted  in  some  poor  animal 
being  left  spraAvling  on  the  ground,  whereon  the  sportsmen 
would  remount  and  continue  the  chase. 

Presently  the  buck  Avore  within  range  of  some  of  the 
guns  in  the  carts,  and  a  regular  fusillade  began.  About 
twenty  blesback  turned  and  came  straight  past  John, 
within  forty,  yards  of  him.  Springing  to  the  ground  he 
fired  both  barrels  of  his  “Express”  at  them  as  tliey  tore 
past— alas  and  alas!  Avithout  touching  them.  The  first 
bullet  struck  under  their  bellies,  the  second  must  have 
shaved  their  backs.  Reloading  rapidly,  he  fired  again  at 
about  tAvo  hundred  yards  range,  and  this  time  one  fell  to 
his  .second  barrel.  But  he  knew  that  it  was  a  chance  shot  , 
be  had  fired  at  the  last  buck,  and  he  hgid  killed  one  ten 


6b 


JESS. 


paces  in  front  of  him.  The  fact  of  llie  hmiLcr  is  tnar,  thia 
sort  of  shooting  is  exceedingly  dillicult  till  one  knows  how 
to  do  it.  The  inexperienced 'hand  tiring  across  a  line  of 
buck  will  not  generally  kill  one  shot  in  twenty,  as  an  in- 
finitesimal  difference  in  elevation,  or  the  slightest  error  in 
judging  distance— in  itself  a  most  diffcult  art  on  thos© 
great  plains — will  make  the  difference.  A  Boer  almost  in¬ 
variably  gets  immediately  behind  a  herd  of  running  buck, 
and  fires  at  one  about  half-way  down  the  line.  Conse¬ 
quently  if  his  elevation  is  a  little  vn-ong,  or  if  he  has  mis¬ 
judged  his  sighting,  tlic  odds  are  that  he  will  hit  one  either 
in  front  of  or  behind  the  particular  animal  fired  at.  All 
thfit  is  necessary  is  that  the  line  of  fire  should  be  good. 
This  John  soon  learnt,  and  when  he  had  mastered  the  fact 
ho  became  as  good  a  game  shot  as  the  majority  of  Boers, 
but  to-day  being  his  first,  he  did  not,  much  to  his  vex¬ 
ation.  particularly  distinguish  himself,  the  result  olf  which 
was  that  his  friends  the  Dutchmen  went  away  firmlj'  con¬ 
vinced  that  the  English  rooibaatje  shot  »s  incUfferentlv  as 
he  lied. 

Jumping  into  the  cart  again,  and  leavdng  the  dead  hles- 
bucli;  to  look  after  itself  for  the  present— not  a  very  safe 
thing  to  do  in  a  country  where  there  are  so  many  vultures 
—John,  or  rather  Jantje,  put  the  horses  into  a  gallop,  and 
away  they  went  at  full  tear.  It  was  a  most. exciting  mode 
of  progresssion,  bumping-  along  furiously  with  a  Ic'aded 
rifle  in  his  hands  over  a  plain  on  which  antheaps  as  large 
as  ail  arm-chair  were  scattered  like  burnt,  almonds  on  a 
cake.  Then  there  were  the  ant  -bear  holes  to  reckon  with, 
and  the  little  swamps  in  the  hollows,  and  other  agreeable 
sui’prises.  But  the  rush  and  exliiiai'iition  of  the  thhig  was 
too  great  to  allow  him  much  time  to  think  of  his  neck;  so 
away  they  fiew,  sticking  on  to  tlie  cart  as  best  they  could, 
and  trusting  to  Providence  to  save  them  from  a  complete 
smash  up.  Now  they  v.mre  bounding  over  an  antheap, 
now  one  of  the  horses  was  on  his  nose,  but  somehow  they 
always  escaped  the  last  dire  disaster;  thanks  chiefly  to  the 
little  Hottentot’s  skillful  driving.  Every  few  minutes  or 
80  they  would  pull  up  whenever  tlie  gafne  was  within 
range,  and.  John  would  spring  from  the  cart  ahd  let  drive, 
and  then  jump  in  and  follow  on  again.  This  went  on  for 
nearly  an  hour,  in  which  time  he  had  fired  twenty-seven 
cartridges  and  killed  three  blesbuck  and  wounded  a  vilder- 
beeste,  which  they  proceeded  to  chase.  But  the  vikler- 
beeste  was  struck  in  the  rump,  and  a  buck  so  v/ounded 
will  go  a  long  way,  and  go  very  fast  also,  and  some  niiles 
ot  gTound  had  been  got  over  before  he  began  to  rest,  only 
^b^Hbig  on  again  as  ihey  drew  near.  At  last,  on  rros.^-^ing 
the  crest  John  saw  what  at  first  he^’  to  be 


JESS. 


m 


his  vil(ierbeeste  dead.  A  second  look,  however,  showed  him 
that,  although  it  was  a  dead  vilderbeeste,  it  most  undoubt¬ 
edly  was  not  the  one  that  ho  had  wounded,  for  that  was 
standing,  its  Head  hanging  down,  about  one  himdred  and 
twenty  yards  beyond  the  other  animal,  which  had,  no 
doubt,  fallen  to  somebody  else’s  rifle,  or  else  been  w'ounded 
further  back  and  come  here  to  die,  Now  the  vilder- 
heeste  lay  within  a  hundred  yards  of  them,  and  Jantje 
pointed  out  to  .Jolm  that  his  best  plan  would  be  to  get  out 
of  the  cart  and  creep  on  hi,s  hands  and  knees  u})  to  the  dead 
animal,  from  the  cover  of  which  he  wmidd  get  a  good  shot 
at  his  own  wmunded  bull. 

Accordingly  Jantje  having  withdrawn  with  the  cart  and 
horses  out  of  sight  under  the  shelter  of  the  rise,  John 
crouched  upon  his  hands  and  knees  and  proceeded  to  carry 
out  his  stalk.  He  got  on  all  right  till  he  was  quite  close  to 
the  dead  cow,  and  was  just  congratidating  himself  on  the 
prospect  of  an  excellent  shot  at  the  wounded  bull,  when 
suddenly  something  struck  the  ground  violently  just  be¬ 
neath  his  stomach,  throwing  up  a  cloud  of  earth  and  dust. 
He  stopped  amazed,  and  as  he  did  so  heard  the  report  of  a 
rifle  somewhat  to  his  right.  It  was  a  rifle  bullet  that  had 
passed  beneath  him.  Scarcely  had  he  realized  this  wdieii 
there  was  a  sudden  commotion  in  his  hair,  and  the  soft 
black  felt  hat  that  he  was  weariiig  started  from  his  head, 
apparently  of  its  own  accord,  and,  after  twirling  round 
twice  or  thrice  in  the  air,  fell  gently  to  the  earth,  and  as  it 
did  so  the  sound  of  a  second  report  reached  his  ears.  It 
was  now  evident  that  somebody  was  firing  at  him;  so, 
jumping  up  from  his  crouching  position,  he  tossed  his  arms 
into  the  air  and  sprung  and  shouted  in  a  v^ay  that  left  no 
mistake  as  to  his  whereabouts.  In  another  minute  he  saw 
a  man  on  horseback,  cantering  easily  toward  him,  in  whom 
he  had  little  difficulty  in  recognizing  Frank  Muller.  He 
went  and  picked  up  his  hat ;  there  was  a  bullet-hole  right 
through  it.  Then,  full  of  wrath,  he  advanced  to  meet 
Frank  Muller. 

“What  the - did  you  mean  by  firing  at  me?”  he 

asked. 

“  Allemachter,  Carle!”  [Almighty,  my  dear  fellow]  was 
the  cool  answer,  “I  thought  that  you  were  a  vilderbeeste 
calf.  I  galloped  the  cow  and  killed  her,  and  she  had  a  calt 
with  her,  and  when  I  got  the  cartridges  out  of  my  rifle  • 
for  one  stuck  and  took  me  some  time — and  the  ones 
in,  I  looked  up,  and  there,  as  I  thought,  was  the  calf,  bo 
I  got  my  rifle  on  and  let  drive,  first  with  one  barrel  and. 
then  with  the  other,  and  when  I  saw  you  jump  up  like 
that  and  shout,  and  that  I  had  bec'u  firing  at  a  man, 
I  nearly  fai&te^.  Thank  the  Almighty  I  dl'Id 


68 


JESS. 


John  listened  coldly.  “I  suppose  that  I  am  bound  iii' 
believe  you,  Moinheer  Muller,”  he  said.  ”  But  I  have  bee.i 
told  that  you  have  the  most  wonderful  sight  of  any  man 
in  these  parts,  which  makes  it  odd  that  at  throe  hundred 
yards  you  should  mistake  a  man  upon  his  hands  and  knees 
for  a  vilderbeeste  calf.” 

”  Does  the  captain  think,  then,  that  I  wished  to  murder 
him;  especially,”  he  added,  “after  I  took  his  hand  this 
morning?” 

“  I  don’t  know  what  to  think,”  answered  John,  looking 
straight  into  Muller’s  eyes,  which  fell  before  his  OAvn. 
“  All  1  know  is  that  your  curious  mistake  very  nearly  cost 
me  my  life.  Look  here!”  and  he  took  a  lock  of  his  brown 
hair  out  of  the  crown  of  his  perforated  hat  and  showed  it 
to  the  other. 

‘  ‘  Ay.  it  was  very  close.  Let  us  thank  God  that  you 
escaped.” 

“It  could  not  well  have  been  closer,  meinheer.  I  hope 
that,  both  for  yo\ir  own  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  the  people 
who  go  out  shooting  Avith  you,  you  will  not  make  such  a 
mistake  again.  Good  morning!” 

The  handsome  Boer,  or  Anglo-Boer,  sat  on  his  horse 
stroking  his  beautiful  beard  and  gazing  curiously  after 
John  Niel’s  stui*dy  English-looking  figure  as  he  marched 
toAvard  the  cart  (for,  of  course,  the  wounded  vilderbeeste 
had  long  ago  A^anished). 

“I  Avonder,”  he  said  to  himself  aloud,  as  he  turned  his 
horse's  head  and  rode  leisurely  away,  “if  the  old  Amlk  are 
right,  after  all.  and  if  there  is  a  God.”  (Frank  Muller  Avas 
sufficiently  impregnated  Avith  modern  ideas  to  be  a  free¬ 
thinker.)  “It  almost  seems  like  it,”  he  Avent  on,  “else 
how  did  it  come  that  the  one  bullet  passed  under  his  belly 
and  the  other  just  touched  his  head  Avithout  harming  him? 
I  aimed  carefully  enough,  too,  and  I  could  make  the  shot 
nineteen  times  out  of  twenty  and  not  miss.  Bab,  a  God  I 
I  snap  my  fingers  at  him.  Chance  is  the  only  god.  Chance 
blows  men  about  like  the  dead  grass,  till  death  comes  down 
like  the  veldt  fire  and  burns  them  up.  But  there  are  men 
who  ride  chance  as  one  rides  a  young  colt — ay,  who  turn 
its  headlong  inishing  and  rearing  to  their  own  ends — who 
let  it  fly  hither  and  thither  till  it  is  weary,  and  then  canter 
it  along  the  road  that  leads  to  triumph.  I,  Frank  Muller, 
am  one  of  those  men.  I  never  fail  in  the  end.  I  will  kill 
that  Englishman.  Perhaps  I  Avill  kill  old  Silas  Croft  and 
the  Hottentot  too.  Bah !  they  do  not  knoAV  what  is  com¬ 
ing.  I  know ;  I  have  helped  to  lay  the  mine,  and  unless 
they  bend  to  my  will  I  shall  be  the  one  to  fire  it.  1  Avill 
kill  them  all,  and  I  will  take  Mooifontein,  and  then  I  will 
marry  Bessie^  .^he  Avill  fight  against  it,  but  thaj^ill Jt© 


JESS. 


€9 


'It"  all  the  sweeter.  She  loves  that  rooibaarjo:  1  know  it; 
'.nd  I  will  kiss  her  over  Jiis  dead  body.  Ah  !  there  are  the 
3arts.  I  don’t  see  the  captain.  Driven  home,  I  suppose, 
)n  account  of  the  shock  to  his  nerves.  Well,  I  must  talk 
to  those  fools.  Lord,  what  fools  tliey  are  wnth  their  talk 
about  the  land,'  and  the  ‘veidomde  Britische  Gouvern- 
ment.”  They  don’t  know  what  is  good  for  them.  Silly 
sheep,  with  Frank  Muller  for  a  shepherd!  Ay,  and  they 
shall  have  Frank  Muller  for  a  president  one  day,  and  I  will 
rule  them  too.  Bah !  I  hate  the  English ;  but  I  am  glad 
that  I  am  half  English,  for  all  that,  for  that  is  where  I  get 
the  brains!  But  these  people — fools,  fools.  Well,  I  shall 
pipe  and  they  shall  dance!” 

■'  Baas,”  said  Jantje  to  John,  as  they  were  driving  home¬ 
ward.  ‘‘  Baas  Frank  shot  at  you.” 

”  How  do  you  know  that?”  asked  John. 

”  I  saw  him.  He  was  stalking  the  wounded  bull,  and  not 
looking  for  a  calf  at  all.  There  was  no  calf.  He  was  just 
going  to  fire  at  the  wounded  bull  when  he  turned  and  saw 
you,  and  he  knelt  down  on  one  knee  and  covered  you,  and 
Defore  I  could  do  anything  he  fired,  and  then,  when  he  saw 
that  he  load  missed  you,  he  fired  again,  and  I  don’t  know 
how  it  was  he  did  not  kill  you,  for  he  is  a  wonderful  shot 
with  a  rifle — he  never  misses.” 

”  I  will  have  the  man  tried  for  attempted  murder,”  said 
ohn,  bringing  the  butt  end  of  his  rifle  down  with  a  bang 
)n  to  the  bottom  of  the  cart.  ‘  ‘  A  villain  like  that  shall  not 
go  scot-free.” 

Jantje  grinned.  “  It  is  no  use.  Baas.  He  would  get  off, 
for  I  am  the  only  witness.  A  jury  'won’t  believe  a  black 
man  in  this  country,  and  they  would  never  punish  a  Boer 
for  shooting  at  an  Englishman.  No,  Baas,  you  should  lie 
up  one  day  in  the  veldt  where  he  is  going  to  pass,  and  shoot 
him.  That  is  what  I  would  do  if  I  dared.” 

CHAPTER  XI. 

ON  THE  BRINK. 

For  a  few  weeks  after  John  Niel’s  adventure  at  the 
shooting-party,  no  event  of  any  importance  occurred  at 
Mooifontein.  Day  followed  day  in  charniing  monotony, 
for,  whatever  “gay  worldlings”  may  think,  monotony  is 
as  full  of  charm  as  a  dreamy  summer  afternoon.  “Happy 
is  the  country  that  has  no  history,”  says  the  voice  of  wis¬ 
dom,  and  the  same  remark  may  be  made  with  even  more 
ruth  of  the  individual.  To  get  up  in  the  morning  and 
eel  that  one  is  full  of  health  and  strength,  to  pursue  the 
common  round  and  daily  task  till  the  evening,  and  finally 
go  to  bed  pleasantly  tired,  and  sleen  the  .=;leep  of  tha 


10 


JESS. 


just,  L  true  secret  of  happiness.  Fierce  excitements 
excursious,  and  alarms  do  not  conduce  either  to  mental 
or  ])hysical  well-being,  and  it  is  for  this  reason  that  we 
find  that  those  whose  lives  have  been  chiefly  concerned 
with  them,  crave  the.  most  after  the  quiet  round  of  do^ 
mestic  life.  When  they  get  it  they  generally,  it  is  true, 
pant  for  the  ardors  of  the  fray,  Avhereof  the  dim  and  dis¬ 
tant  sounds  are  echoing  through  the  spaces  of  their  heart, 
in  the  same  way  that  the  countries  without  a  history  are 
always  anxious  to  write  one  in  their  own  blood :  but  then, 
that  is  a  principle  of  nature  which  will  allow  of  no  stand¬ 
ing  still  among  her  subjects,  and  has  ordained  that  strife 
of  one  sort  or  another  shall  be  the  absolute  condition  of  ex¬ 
istence. 

On  the  whole,  John  found  that  the  life  of  a  South  African 
farmer  came  well  up  to  his  expectations.  He  had  ample 
occupation;  indeed,  what  between  ostriches,  horses,  cat¬ 
tle,  sheep,  and  crops,  he  was  rather  over  than  under  oc¬ 
cupied.  Nor  was  he  greatly  troubled  by  the  lack  of  civ¬ 
ilized  society,  for  he  was  a  man  who  read  a  great  deal,  and 
books  could  be  ordered  from  Durban  and  Cape  Town, 
while  the  weekly  mail  brought  up  an  ample  supply  of  pa¬ 
pers.  On  Sundays  he  always  read  the  political  aihicles  in 
the  Saturday  Revieiv  aloud  to  old  Silas  Croft,  who,  as  h, 
got  older,  found  that  the  print  tried  his  eyes,  and  this  was 
an  attention  that  the  old  gentleman  greatly  appreciated. 
He  was  a  well  informed  man,  and  had,  notwithstanding  his 
long  life  spent  in  a  half-civilized  country,  never  lost  his  hold 
of  affairs  or  his  interest  in  the  wide  and  rushing  life  of  the 
world  in  one  of  whose  side  eddies  he  lived  apart.  This 
task  of  reading  the  Saturday  Uevieiv  aloud  had  formerly 
been  a  part  of  Bessie's  Sunday  service,  but  her  uncle  was 
veiy  glad  to  effect  an  exchange.  Bessie’s  mind  was  not 
quite  in  tune  with  the  profundities  of  that  journal,  and  her 
attention  was  apt  to  wander  at  the  most  pointed  passages. 
And  thus  it  came  about,  what  between  the  Saturday  Re¬ 
view  and  other  things,  that  a  very  warm  and  deep  attach¬ 
ment  sprung  up  betwixt  the  old  man  and  his  younger 
partner.  John  was  a  very  taking  man,  especially  to  the 
old,  for  whom  he  was  never  tired  of  performing  little 
sein  ices.  One  of  his  favorite  sayings  was  that  old  people 
should  be  “let  down  easy,”  and  he  acted  up  to  it.  More¬ 
over,  there  was  a  (piiet  jollity  and  a  bluff  honesty  about 
him  ^vhich  was  undoubtedly  atti-active  both  to  men  and 
women.  But  his  great  recommendation  was  that  he  was  a 
weli-informc'd,  experienced  man  and  a  gentleman,  in  a 
country  in  which  both  were  rare.  Every  week  the  old 
mai;  gut  to  rely  more  and  more  on  him,  and  let  things  pass 
more  gnd  •  Cjore  into  his  hands.  , 


JESS. 


n 


*‘I’m  getting'  old,  Niel,”  he  said  to  him  one-  ;  ’.h'- ;  “  I’m 
getting  very  old;  the  grasshopper  is  becoming  burden  to 
i*ne:  and  I’ll  tell  you  what  it  is.  my  boy,”  laying  iris  hand 
atrectiouately  upon  John’s  shoulder,  ”  1  havm  no  sou  or  my 
own,  and  you  will  have  to  be  a  son  to  me,  as  iny  dear 
Sessie  has  been  a  daughter.” 

John  looked  up  into  the  kindly,  handsome  old  face, 
crowned  with  the  fringe  of  snowy  hair,  and  at  the  two 
keen  eyes  set  deep  in  it  beneath  the  overhanging  eyebrows, 
and  thought  of  his  old  father  >vho  was  long  since  dead; 
and  somehow  he  wn^  rno'/ed,  and  uis  own  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

”  Ay,  Mr.  Croft.”  Jte  said,  taking  the  old  man's  hand, 
“  that  I  will  to  the  best  of  my  ability.-’ 

“Thank  you.  my  boy.  thank  you.  ,  I  don’t  like  talking 
much  about  these  things,  but,  as  I  said,  I  am  getting  old, 
and  the  Almighty  may  require  my  account  any  day,  and 
if  he  does  I  rely  on  yon  to  look  after  these  two  girls.  It  is 
a  wild  country  this,  and  one  never  knows  what  may  hap¬ 
pen  in  it  from  day  to  day.  and  they  will  want  it.  Some¬ 
times  I  wish  I  were  clear  of  the  place.  And  now  I’m  going 
to  bed.  I'm  beginning  to  feel  as  though  I  had  dojie  ray 
day’s  v/ork  in  the  world.  I'm  getting  feeble,  John,  that 
is  the  fact  of  it.” 

After  that  he  always  called  him  John. 

Of  Jess  they  heard  but  little.  She  wrote  every  week,  it 
is  tru.e,  and  gave  an  accurate  account  of  all  that  "was  going 
on  at  Pretoria  and  of  her  daily  doings,  but  she  was  one  of 
those  people  whose  letters  tell  one  absolutely  notlii'.'g  d 
them-  t'lves  ami  of  what  was  passing  in  their  minds.  Theji 
niighi  as  "well  have  been  headed  “Onr  Pretoria  Letter,”  as 
Bessie  said  disgustedly  after  reading  through  three  sheets 
in  Jess’  curious,  upright  handwriting.  “Once  j'ou  lose 
sight  of  Jess,”  she  went  on,  ”  she  might  as  well  be  dead  for 
all  you  learn  about  her.  Not  that  one  learns  very  much 
when  she  is  with  one,”  she  added,  reflectively. 

“She  is  a  petuiliar  oman,”  said  John,  ihoughtfnlly. 
At  first  he  luul  missed  her  very  much;  for,  peculiar  as  she 
undoubtedly  was.  she  liad  touched  a  new  string  in  him 
somewhere,  of  the  e:;:istence  of  which  he  had  not  till  then 
been  himself  aware.  And  what  is  more,  it  had  an.swered 
pretty  strongly  for  some  time;  but  now  it  was  slowly  vi¬ 
brating  itself  into  silence  again,  much  as  a  harp  does  when 
the  si liker  takes  bis  fingers  from  phe  strings.  J]a(i  she 
stayed  on  atiolber  week  or  so  the  effect  m.ight  Ita'^  e  oeen 

more  emlaring.  ■  n 

But  ait  hough  Jess  bad  gone  aAvay  Be-sm  r.au  not. 
On  tiie  eonirnr'.'.  she  '-.a.s'  always’ about  him,  '•  rra  nuing 
himwit'-  ■■■■■■;  lender  etire  t'l  ^voman,  ho'V'-'  •.'■iiita- 


JESS. 


9t<J 

rily,  caiinot  prev^eiit  nerself  from  lavit^hing  on  the  man  she 
loves.  Her  beauty  moved  about  the  place  like  a  beam  ol 
light  about  a  garden,  for  she  was  indeed  a  lovely  woman, 
and  as  pure  and  good  as  she  was  lovely.  Nor  could  John 
long  remain  in  ignorance  of  her  partiality  for  hiin.  He 
was  not  a  vain  man — very  much  the  reverse,  Indeed  —but 
neither  was  he  a  fool.  And  it  must  be  said  that,  though 
Bessie  never  overstepped  the  bounds  of  maidenly  reserve, 
nor  did  she  take  particular  pains  to  hide  her  preference. 
inde(  d,  it  w'as  too  strong  to  permit  of  her  doing  so.  Not 
that  she  was  animated  by  the  half-divine,  soul-searing 
breath  of  passion,  such  as  animated  her  sister,  which  is  a 
vei'y  rare  thiiig,  and,  take  it  altogether,  as  undesirable 
and  unsuitable  to  the  ordinary  conditions  of  this  prosaic 
Snd  work-a-day  life  as  it  is  rare.  But  she  was  tenderly 
and  truly  in  love  after  the  ordinai-y  young-womanly  fash¬ 
ion;  indeed,  her  passion,  measured  by  the  every-day 
standard,  would  have  proved  to  be  a  deep  one.  However 
this  was.  she  was  undoubtedly  prepared  to  make  John 
Niel  a  faithful  and  a  loving  wife  if  he  chose  to  ask  her  to 
become  so. 

And  as  the  weeks  went  on— though,  of  course,  he  knew 
nothing  of  all  this — it  became  a  very  serious  question  to 
John  whether  he  should  not  ask  her.  It  is  not  good  for 
man  to  live  alone,  especially  in  the  Transvaal,  and  it  was 
not  possible  for  him  to  pass  day  by  day  at  the  side  of  so 
much  beauty  and  so  much  grace  w  ithout  thinking  that  it 
would  be  well  to  draw  the  bond  of  union  closer.  Indeed, 
had  John  been  a  younger  man  or  had  less  experience,  he 
woidd  have  succumbed  to  the  temptation  much  sooner 
than  he  did.  But  he  was  neither  very  young  nor  very  in¬ 
experienced.  Ten  years  or  more  ago.  in  his  green  and 
gushing  youth,  he  had,  as  has  been  said,  burnt  his  fingers 
pretty  sharply,  and  a  lively  recollection  of  this  incident  in 
his  career  had  heretofore  proved  a  very  efficient  warning 
to  him.  Also,  he  had  got  to  that  period  of  life  when  men 
think  a  great  many  times  before  they  wildly  commit  them¬ 
selves  to  the  deep  matrimonial  waters.  At  three -and- 
twenty  most  of  us  are  willing,  for  the  sake  of  a  pretty  face, 
to  undertake  the  serious  and  in  many  cases  overwhelming 
burdens,  risks,  and  cares  of  family  life,  and  the  responsi¬ 
bility  of  the  parentage  of  a  large  and  healthy  brood,  but  at 
thme-and-thirty  we  take  a  dilferent  view^  of  the  matter. 

The  temptation  may  be  great,  but  the  per  contra  list  is 
so  very  alarming,  and  we  never  know  even  theji  if  we  see 
all  the  liabilities.  Such  are  the  black  thought^;  That  move 
in  the  breasts  of  selfish  men,  to  the  great  di.sadvauTage  of 
the  marriage  market:  and  however  it  may  lower  Joiin  Niel 
in  the  eyes  of  those  who  take  the  trouble  to  foi  i-'w  this  por- 


JESS. 


73 


tion  of  his  life’s  history,  it  must,  in  the  interests  of  truth 
and  fact,  be  confessed  that  he  was  not  free  from  them.  The 
fact  of  the  matter  was  that,  sweet  as  Bessie  was  and  pretty  as 
she  was,  he  was  not  violently  in  love  with  her;  and  one  requires 
at  thirty-four  to  be  violently  in  love  to  rush  into  the  near  risk 
of  matrimony.  But  however  commendably  cautious  a  man  may 
be,  he  is  always  liable  to  be  thrown  into  temptation  sufficiently 
strong  to  sweep  away  his  caution  and  make  a  mockery  of  his 
plans.  However  strong  the  rope,  it  has  its  breaking  strain;  and 
in  the  same  way  our  power  of  resistance  to  a»y  given  course 
depends  entirely  upon  the  power  of  the  tempta^on  to  draw  us 
tito  it.  And  so  it  was  destined  to  be  with  our  friend  John 
Niel. 

It  was  about  a  week  after  his  conversation  with  old  Silas 
Croft  that  it  occurred  to  John  that  Bessie’s  manner  had 
giown  rather  strange  of  late.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  had 
avoided  his  society,  instead  of,  if  not  courting  it,  at  least 
showing  a  certain  partiality  for  it.  Also,  she  had  been  looking 
pale  and  worried,  and  evinced  a  tendency  to  irritation  that  was 
quite  foreign  to  her  natural  sweetness  of  disposition.  Now  when 
a  person  on  whom  one  is  accustomed  to  depend  for  most  of  that 
Social  intercourse  and  those  pleasant  little  amenities  that  members 
of  one  sex  value  from  another,  suddenly  cuts  off  the  supply  with¬ 
out  any  apparent  rhyme  or  reason,  it  is  enough  to  induce  a 
feeling  of  wonder,  not  to  say  vexation,  in  the  breast.  It  never 
occurred  to  John  that  the  reason  might  be  that  Bessie  was  truly 
fond  of  him,  and  perhaps  unconsciously  disappointed  that  he  did 
not  show  a  warmer  interest  in  her.  If,  however,  we  were  to 
examine  into  the  facts  of  the  case  we  should  probably  discover 
that  this  was  the  real  explanation  of  the  change.  Bessie  was  a 
straightforward  young  woman,  whose  mind  and  purposes  were 
as  clear  as  running  water.  She  was  vexed  with  John — though 
she  would  probably  not  have  owned  it  even  to  herself  in  so 
many  words — and  her  manner  reflected  the  condition  of  her 
mind. 

“Bessie,”  said  John,  one  lovely  day,  just  as  the  afternoon  was 
merging  into  evening,  “Bessie” — he  always  called  her  Bessie  now 
— “T  am  going  down  to  the  black  wattle  plantation  by  the  big 
mealie  patch.  I  want  to  see  how  those  young  trees  are  doing. 
If  you  have  done  your  cooking” — for  Bessie  had  been  engaged  in 
making  a  cake,  as  young  ladies,  to  their  souls’  health,  often  have 
to  do  in  the  colonies — “I  wish  you  would  put  on  your  hat  and 
come  with  me.  I  don’t  believe  that  you  have  been  out  to-day, 


74 


JESS. 


“Thank  you,  Captain  Niel,  I  don’t  think  that  I  want  M 
come  out.” 

“Why  not?”  he  said. 

“Oh.  I  don’t  know— because  there  is  too  much  to  do. 
If  I  go  out  that  stupid  girl  will  burn  the  cake,”  a.ud  siia 
pointed  to  a  Kafir  intombi  [young  girl]  who,  arrayed  in  a 
blue  smock,  a  sweet  smile,  and  a  feather  stuck  in  iie-r 
wool,  was  vigorously  employed  in  staring  at  the  flies  on 
the  ceiling  and  sucking  her  black  fingers.  “Really,”  she 
added  with  a  little  stamp,  “one  needs  the  patience  of  an 
angel  to  put  up  with  that  girl’s  stupidity.  Yesterday  she 
smashed  the  biggest  dinner-plate  and  then  brought  me  the 
pieces  with  a  broad  grin  on  her  face,  and  asked  mo  to 
‘make  them  one  ’  again.  The  white  people  were  so  clever, 
she  said,  it  Avould  be  no  trouble  to  me.  If  they  could 
make  the  white  plate  once,  and  could  make  flowers  grow 
on  it,  it  would  surely  be  easy  to  make  it  whole  again.  I 
did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry  or  tlirow  the  pieces 
at  her.  ’  ’ 

“  Look  here,  young  woman,”  said  John,  taking  the  sin¬ 
ning  girl  by  the  arm  and  leading  her  solemnly  to  the  oven, 
which  was  opened  to  receive  the  cake ;  ‘  ‘  look  here,  if  you 
let  that  cake  burn  while  the  inkosikaas  [lady  chieftain]  is 
away,  when  I  come  back  I  will  cram  you  into  the  owen  to 
burn  with  it.  I  cooked  a  girl  like  that  in  Natal  last  year, 
and  when  she  came  out  she  was  quite  white !” 

Bessie  translated  this  fiendish  threat,  whereat  tlie  girl 
grinned  from  ear  to  ear  and  murmured  “  Koos  ”  [chief]  ia 
cheerful  acquiescence.  A  Kafir  girl  on  a  pleasant  after¬ 
noon  is  not  troubled  by  the  prospect  of  being  baked  at 
nightfall,  which  is  a  long  way  off,  especially  when  it  v\^as 
John  Niel  who  threatened  the  baking.  The  natives  about 
Mooifoiitein  bad  pretty  well  taken  the  measure  of  John’s 
foot  by  this  time.  His  threats  were  awful,  but  bis  perform 
ances  were  not  great.  Once,  indeed,  he  had  to  have  a  regu¬ 
lar  stand-up  fight  with  a  great  fellow  who  thought  that  he 
could  on  this  account  be  taken  advantage  of,  but  after  he 
had  succeeded  in  administering  a  sound  hiding  to  that 
champion  he  was  never  again  troubled  in  this  respect. 

“Now,”  he  said,  “1  think  we  liave  provided  fur  the 
safety  of  your  cake,  so  come  on.” 

“  Thank  you,  Captain  Niel,”  answered  Bessie,  looking  at 
him  in  a  bewitching  little  way  she  well  knew  how  to  assume, 
“thank  you,  but  1  think  I  had  rather  notrgo  out  wadking.  ” 
This  was  what  she  said,  but  her  eyes  added,  “  I  am  offended 
with  you;  I  want  to  have  nuthirig  to  do  with  you.” 

“Very  well,”  said  John:  "then  1  suppose  I  must  go 
alone,”  and  he  took  up  his  hat  with  the  air  of  a  manyr. 

Bessie  looked  through  the  open  kitchen  door  at  the  lights 


JESS.  75 

and  shadows  t]:nt  clmBed  each  other  across  the  swelling 
bosom  of  the  hill  behind  the  house. 

“It  certainly  is  very  fine,”  she  said;  “are  you  going 
far?” 

“  No,  only  round  the  plantation.” 

“There  are  so  many  puff-adders  dowm  there,  and  I  hate 
snakes,”  suggested  Bessie,  by  way  of  finding  aiiother  ex¬ 
cuse  for  not  coming. 

“  Oh,  I’ll  look  after  the  puff-adders— come  along.” 

“  Well,”  she  said  at  last,  as  she  slowly  unrolled  her 
sleeves,  which  had  been  tucked  up  during  the  cake- mak¬ 
ing,  and  hid  her  beautiful  white  arms,  “  I  Avill  come,  not 
because  I  want  to  come,  but  because  you  have  over-per¬ 
suaded  me.  I  don’t  know  what  has  come  to  me,”  she 
added,  with  a  little  stamp  hnd  a  sudden  filling  of  her  blue 
eyes  with  teai*s,  “  I  do  not  seem  to  have  any  will  of  my 
own  left.  When  I  want  to  do  one  thing  and  you  Avant  me 
to  do  another  it  is  I  who  have  to  do  what  you  want;  and  I 
tell  you  I  don’t  like  it,  Captain  Niel,  and  I  shall  be  very 
cross  out  w^alking;”  and  she  swept  past  him,  on  her  Avay 
to  fetch  her  hat,  in  that  peculiarly  graceful  way  that 
angry  Avomen  can  sometimes  assume,  and  left  him  reflect¬ 
ing  that  he  never  saw  a  more  charming  or  taking  lady  in 
Europe  or  out  of  it. 

tie  had  half  a  mind  to  risk  it  and  ask  her  to  marry  him. 
But  tlion,  perhaps,  she  might  refuse  liim,  and  that  Avas  a^c 
idea  that  he  did  not  quite  take  to.  After  our  first  youth 
few  men  altogether  reli.^h  the  idea  of  putting  themselves  in 
a  position  that  giAms  a  capricious  Avoman  an  opportunity  of 
first  figuratiAmly  jumping  on  them,  and  thenirerhaps  hold¬ 
ing  them  up  to  the  scorn  and  obloquy  of  her  friends,  rela¬ 
tions  and  other  admirers.  For,  unfortunately,  until  the 
opposite  is  clearly  demonstrated,  many  men  are  apt  to  be¬ 
lieve  that  not  a  fevv  women  are  by  nature  capricious,  siial- 
low,  and  unreliable;  and  John  Niel,  OAving,  po.ssiblv'  to 
tl.at  unhappy  little  experience  of  Iiis  youth,  must  be  reck¬ 
oned  among  their  misguided  ranks. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

OVER  IT. 

On  leaA’'ing  the  house  Be.ssie  and  John  took  their  Avay* 
doAAui  the  long  aAmnue  of  blue  gums.  This  aAmnue  aa'OS  old 
Silas  Croft’s  particular  pride,  for  although  it  had  only 
been  planted  for  about  tAventy  years,  the  trees,  AAdiich  in. 
the  divine  climate  and  virgin  soil  of  the  Transvaal  groAV  at 
the  nio.sb  extraordinary  rate,  Avere  for  the  most  part  A^cry 
iofty,  and  as  thick  in  the  stem  as  English  oaks  of  a  hun¬ 
dred  and  fifty  year.s’  staiidiug.  The  avenue  was  not  o\’’er 
Tride.  and  the  trees  v^ere  planted  quite  close  one  to 


•7^ 


JESS. 


another,  with  the  result  that  their  brown,  pillar-like  stemg 
shot  up  for  many  feet  without  a  branch,  whilst  hi^h  over¬ 
head  the  boughs  crossed  and  intermingled  in  such  a  way 
as  to  form  a  leafy  tunnel,  through  which  one  looked  at  the 
landscape  bej^ond  as  one  does  through  a  telescope. 

Down  this  charming  avenue  John  and  Bessie  Avalked.  and 
on  reaching  its  limit  turned  to  the  right  and  folio w'ed  a  lit¬ 
tle  foot-path  winding  in  and  out  of  the  rocks  that  built  up 
the  plateau  on  the  hillside  on  "whicli  the  house  stood. 
Presently  this  led  them  through  the  orchard,  and  then 
came  a  bare  strip  of  veldt,  a  very  dangerous  spot  in  a  thun¬ 
derstorm,  but  a  great  safeguard  to  tUe  house  and  tro('3 
round  it,  for  the  ironstone  cropped  up  here,  and  from  the 
house  one  might  generally  see  flash  after  flash  striking 
down  on  to  it,  and  even  running  and  zigzagging  about  its 
surface.  To  the  left  of  this  were  some  cultivated  lands, 
and  in  front  of  them  the  plantation  in  which  John  wa£ 
anxious  to  inspect  some  recently  planted  wattles. 

They  walked  right  to  the  copse  without  saying  a  word. 
It  was  surrounded  by  a  ditch  and  a  low  sod  wmll,  whereon 
Bessie  seated  herself,  saying  that  she  would  wait  there  till 
he  had  looked  at  the  trees,  as  she  Avas  afraid  of  the  puff- 
adders,  of  which  a  large  and  thriving  family  were  known 
to  live  in  the  plantation. 

John  assented,  remarking  that  the  puff-adders  were 
brutes,  and  that  he  must  have  some  pigs  turned  in  to 
destroy  them,  Avhich  the  pigs  do  by  munching  them  up, 
apparently  without  unpleasant  consequences  to  them¬ 
selves,  and  then  departed  on  his  errand,  wending  his  way 
gingei’ly  through  the  feathery  black  wattles.  It  did  not 
take  long,  and  he  saw  no  puff-adders.  When  he  had  fin¬ 
ished  looking  at  the  young  trees,  he  returned,  still  Avalking 
delicately  as  Agag.  On  getting  to  the  border  of  the  plan¬ 
tation  he  paused  to  look  at  Bessie,  who  was  some  twenty 
paces  from  him,  perched  sideAvays  on  the  Ioav  sod-Avall,  and 
framed,  as  it  were,  in  the  full  rich  light  of  the  sotting  sun. 
Her  hat  Avas  off,  for  the  sun  had  lost  its  burning  force,  and 
the  hand  that  held  it  hung  idly  by  her,  while  her  eyes  Avere 
fixed  on  the  horizon  flaming  Avifh  all  the  varied  glories  of 
the  African  sunset.  He  gazed  at  her  sweet  face  and  lissom 
form,  and  some  lines  that  he  had  read  years  before  fioat€.. 
idly  into  his  mind ; 

“  The  little  enrl.s  about  her  head 
Wei’e  all  her  erown  of  gold. 

Her  delicate  arms  drooped  dowaward 
In  slender  mold. 

As  white- veined  leaves  of  lilies 
Curve  and  fold. 

She  moved  to  measure  of  music, 

^F.  a.  swan  sails  the  stream——^* 


JESS. 


71 


He  had  got  as  far  as  this  when  she  turned  and  saw  him, 
and  he  gave  up  the  poetry  in  the  presence  of  one  who 
might  well  have  inspired  it. 

“  What  are  you  looking  at?”  she  said  with  a  smile:  ”  the 
sunset?” 

“No;  I  was  looking  at  you.” 

“Then  you  might  have  been  better  employed  with  tlie 
sunset,”  she  answered,  turning  her  head  quickly.  “Look 
at  it !  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  sunset?  W e  sometimes  get 
them  like  that  at  this  time  of  year  when  tiie  thunder¬ 
storms  are  about.” 

She  was  right;  it  was  glorious.  The  heavy  clouds 
which  a  couple  of  hours  before  had  been  rolling  like  celes¬ 
tial  hearses  across  the  azure  deeps  were  now  aflame  with 
glory.  Some  of  them  glowed  like  huge  castles  wrapped  in 
nre,  others  with  the  dull  red  heat  of  burning  coal.  The 
eastern  sky  was  one  sheet  of  burnished  gold  that  slowly 
grew  to  red,  and  higher  yet  to  orange  and  the  faintest 
rose.  To  the  left  departing  sunbeams  rested  lovingly  on 
gray  Quathlamba’s  crests,  even  firing  the  eternal  snows 
that  lay  upon  his  highest  peak,  and  Avriting  once  more 
upon  their  whiteness  the  record  of  another  day  fulfilled. 
Lower  down  the  sky  floated  little  clouds,  flame-flakes 
fallen  from  the  burning  mass  above,  and  on  the  earth  be¬ 
neath  lay  great  depths  of  shadow  barred  with  the  bright¬ 
ness  of  the  dying  light. 

John  stood  and  looked  at  it,  and  its  liA^ing,  glowing 
beauty  seemed  to  fire  his  imagination,  as  it  fired  earth  and 
heaven,  in  such  sort  that  the  torch  of  love  lit  upon  his 
heart  like  the  sunbeams  on  the  mountain  tops.  Then  from 
the  celestial  beauty  of  the  skies  he  turned  lo  contemplate 
the  earthly  beauty  of  the  woman  who  sat  there  before 
him,  and  found  that  also  fair.  Whether  it  Avas  the  con 
templation  of  the  glories  of  Nature — for  there  is  always  a 
suspicion  of  melancholy  in  beauciful  things— or  whatever 
it  Avas,  her  face  had  a  touch  of  sadness  on  it  that  he  laid 
never  seen  before,  and  Avhich  certainly  added  to  its  charm 
as  a  shadow  adds  to  the  charm  of  the  light. 

“  AVhat  are  you  thinking  of,  Bessie?”  he  asked. 

She  looked  up,  and  ho  saw  that  her  lips  w'ere  quivering 
a  little.  “Well,  do  you  know,”  she  said,  “  I  was,  oddly 
enough,  thinking  of  my  mother.  I  can  only  just  remember 
her,  a  woman  Avith  a  thin,  SAveet  face.  1  remember  one 
eAmning  she  Avas  sitting  in  front  of  a  house,  jnst  as  the  sun 
was  setting  like  it  is  now,  and  I  Avas  ivlaying  by  her,  whoa 
suddenly  she  called  me  to  her  and  kis.‘^ed  me.  and  tiieu 
pointed  to  the  red  clouds  that  Avere  gathered  ia  the  sr.y. 
and  said,  ‘  I  Avonder  if  you  will  ever  tliink  of  me,  deai'.  wlani 
,?hH-  ■'  nassed  through  those  goidmi  gates.'’  I  did  not  uu- 


78 


JESS. 


dersi'iand  what  she  meant  then,  but  someho'Y  I  bava  iCi.aem^ 
bered  the  words,  and  though  she  died  .so  long  ago  I  do  often 
think  of  her;”  and  two  large  tears  rolled  down  her  face  aa 
she  spoke. 

Few  men  can  bear  to  see  a  sweet  and  pretty  woman  in 
tears,  and  this  little  incident  was  too  much  for  John,  whose 
caution  and  doubts  all  went  to  the  winds  together,  and  have 
not  since  been  heai’d  of. 

“Bessie,”  he  said,  “don’t  cry,  dear;  please  don’t!  1 
can’t  bear  to  see  you  cry.” 

She  looked  up  as  though  to  remonstrate  at  his  words,  and 
then  looked  down  again. 

“Listen,  Bessie,”  he  went  on  awkwardly  enough,  “I 
have  got  something  to  say  to  you.  I  want  to  ask  you  if — 
if,  in  short,  you  will  marry  me.  Wait  a  bit,  don’t  say 
aTiything  yet ;  you  know  me  pretty  well  by  now.  1  am  no 
chicken,  dear,  and  I  have  knocked  about  the  world  a  good 
deal,  and  had  one  or  two  love  affairs  like  other  people. 
But,  Bessie,  I  never  met  such  a  sweet  woman,  or,  if  you 
will  let  me  say  it,  such  a  lovely  woman  as  you,  and  if  you 
will  have  me,  dear,  I  think  that  I  shall  be  the  luckiest  man 
in  South  Africa;”  and  he  stopped,  not  exactly  knowing 
what  else  to  say,  and  the  time  had  not  come  for  action,  if 
indeed  it  was  to  come  at  all. 

When  she  first  realized  the  drift  of  his  talk  Bessie  had 
flushed  up  to  the  eyes,  and  then  the  blood  had  siink  back 
to  her  breast,  and  left  her  as  pale  as  a  lily.  She  loved  the 
mati,  and  they  were  happy  Avords  to  her,  and  she  Avas  satis¬ 
fied  Avith  them,  though  perhaps  some  AA^oraen  might  haA^e 
thought  that  they  left  a  good  deal  to  be  desired.  But 
Bessie  Avas  not  of  an  exacting  nature. 

At  last  she  spoke. 

“  Are  you  sure,”  she  said,  “  that  you  mean  all  this?  I 
mean  sometimes  people  say  things  of  a  sudden,  upon  an 
impulse,  and  then  afteiward  they  wish  that  they  neA^er  had 
been  said.  If  that  was  so  it  vAmuld  be  rather  awkward 
supposing  I  Avere  to  say  ‘  yes,’  you  know.” 

“  Of  course  I  am  sure,”  he  said  indignantly. 

“  You  see,”  went  on  Bessie,  poking  a,t  the  sod  Avail  with 
the  stick  she  held  in  her  hand,  “  pei-haps  in  this  place  you 
might  be  putting  an  exaggerated  Auilue  on  me.  You  think 
I  atn  pretty  because  you  see  nobody  but  Kafir  and  Boer 
women,  and  it  Avould  be  the  .^amc  Avith  evei*ything.  I’m 
net  fit  to  marry  a  man  lilie  you,”  she  went  on.  with  a  sud¬ 
den  burst  of  distres.s;  “  I  have  neA’er  seen  anything  or  any¬ 
body.  I  am  nothing  hut  aa  ignorant,  half-educated 
farmer  girl,  witli  rioiliiug;  to  rocoramend  me,  and  no  fort¬ 
une  except  my  looks.  You  are  different  to  me;  you  are  a 
man  of  the  AAu.'r'a.  and  if  ever  you  went  back  to  England  I 


.  ESS. 


Blio’  i,  cm  roil,  <‘i,nd  yoa  would  be  ashamed  of  me 

aiKi  ...  .  nJioriiai  wa^  s.  If  it  had  Ix'eii  Jess  now,  it  would 
have  })  i  ii  diifenuit.  for  .she  Jias  more  brtiins  in  Imr  little 
finger  iiuiii  1  have  in  my  w  hole  hody.” 

Somehow  this  mention  ut  Jess  jarred  upon  John’s 
herves.  and  chilled  him  like  a  breat.h  of  cold  wind  on  a  hot 
day.  He  w^anted  to  put  Je.ss  out  of  his  mind  just  now. 

“My  dear  Bes.sic, ”  he  broke  in,  “  wdiy  do  you  suppose 
'  such  thing.s?  I  can  as.sure  yoti  that,  if  you  appeared  in  a 
London  drawing-room,  jmu  would  put  most  of  the  women 
in  it  into  the  shade.  Not  that  there  is  much  chance  of  my 
frequenting  London  drawing-rooms  again.”  he  added. 

“Oh,  yes!  I  tnay  he  good-looking;  I  don’t  say  that  I 
am  not;  but  can’t  you  understand  I  don’t  want  you  to 
marry  me  just  because  I  am  a  pretty  woman,  as  the  Kafirs 
marry  their  wives.  If  you  marry  me  at  all  I  want  you  to 
marry  me  because  you  care  for  me,  the  real  me,  not  my 
eyes  and  my  hair.  Oh,  I  don’t  know  what  to  answer  youl 
I  don’t,  indeed!”  and  slie  began  to  cry  softly. 

“Bes.sie,  dear  Bessie!”  said  John,  who  was  pretty  well 
beside  him.self  by  this  time,  “just  tell  me  honestly — do  you 
care  about  me?  I  am not  worth  much,  I  know,  but  if  you 
do  all  this  just  goes  for  nothing,”  and  he  took  her  hand 
and  drew  her  toward  him,  so  that  she  half  slipped,  half 
got  off  the  sod  wall  and  stood  face  to  face  wuth  him,  for 
she  was  a  tall  woman;  and  they  were  very  nearly  of  a 
height. 

Twice  she  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  to  his  to  answer  and 
twice  her  courage  failed  her,  and  then  at  last  the  truth 
broke  from  her  almost  with  a  cry : 

“ Oh,  John,  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart!” 

And  now  I  think  that  we  may  drop  a  veil  over  the  rest 
of  these  proceedings,  for  there  are  some  things  that  should 
be  sacred,  even,  from  the  pen  of  the  historian,  and  the  first 
transports  of  the  love  of  a  pure  woman  is  one  of  them. 

Suffice  it  to  say  that  they  sat  thei'e  side  by  side  on  that 
sod  wall,  and  were  as  happy  as  people  ouglit  to  be  under 
such  circumstances,  till  the  glory  departed  from  the  w^est- 
eru  .sky  and  the  world  grew  cold  and  paie,  till  the  night 
came  down  and  hid  the  mountains,  and  only  the  stars  and 
they  were  left  to  look  out  acros.s  the  duskj'  di.stances  of 
the  wilderness  of  plain. 

r  ^  *5' 

IJoanwhilo  a.  very  different  scene  was  being  enacted  up 
at  the  liousc  lialf  a  mile  away. 

Not  more  tiian  ten  minutes  after  John  and  his  ladj'-love 
had  departed  on  that  fateful  walk  to  look  at  the  young 
trees,  Frank  Muller's  .stal\^■art  form,  mounted  on  his  great 
blai'k  ‘lorse,  was  to  be  seen  Lusurely  advancine  toward  the 

'  K 


80 


JESS. 


bliie  giira  avenue.  Jantje  wos  lurking  about  between  th« 
steins  of  the  trees  in  the  peculiar  fashion  that  is  cliaracter- 
isiic  of  the  Hottentot,  and  Avhich  doubtless  is  bred  into  him 
after  tens  of  centuries  of  tracking  animals  and  hiding  from 
foes.  There  he  was,  slipping  trom  trunk  to  trunk,  and 
go  zing  round  him  as  though  he  expected  each  instant  to 
discover  the  assegai  of  an  ambushed  foe  or  to  hear  the 
footfall  of  some  savage  beast  of  prey.  There  was  abso¬ 
lutely  no  reason  why  he  should  be  carrying  on  in  this 
fashion;  he  vtas  simply  indulging  his  natural  instincts 
where  he  thought  nobody  Avould  observe  him.  Life  at 
'Mooifoutein  was  ahogether  too  tame  and  civilized  for 
Jant  je's  taste,  and  lie  absolutelj^  needed  periodical  recrea¬ 
tions  of  this  sort.  Like  a  civilized  child  he  longed  for  wild 
beasts  and  enemies,  and  if  there  were  none  handy  ha 
found  a  reflected  satisfaction  in  making  a  pretense  of  their 
presence. 

Presently.  hov.mver,  whilst  they  were  yet  a  long  way 
oi'f.  his  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  the  horse’s  foot¬ 
falls,  and  he  straightened  himself  and  listened.  Not  sat¬ 
isfied  with  the  results,  he  laid  himself  down,  put  his  ear  to 
the  ground,  and  gave  a  guttural  grunt  of  satisfaction. 

“Baas  Frank’s  black  horse,”  lie  muttered  to  himself., 
“The  black  horse  lias  a  cracked  heel,  and  one  foot  hits  the 
ground  more  softly  than  tiie  others.  What  is  Baas  Frank 
e'>ming  here  for?  After  missie  (Bessie).  1  think.  He  would 
l)t‘  mad  if  iio  knew  that  missie  tvent  down  to  the  plantation 
w  ii  h  Baas  Nis!  just  now.  People  go  into  plantations  to  kiss 
ear'll  other  ”  (.Fantje  was  nor,  far  out  there),  “and  it  vmuld 
make  Baas  Frank  mail  if  lie  know  that.  He  would  strike 
ina  if  I  told  him,  or  I  v/ould  hfil  liim.” 

T!;e  horse’s  hoofs  were  getting  near  by  now,  so  Jantje  ■ 
slip:-“d  as  easily  and  naturally  as  a  snake  into  a  thick  tuft 
of  ru'ik  grass  that  grew  bet, ween  the  blue  gums,  and 
wa;w..!  Nobody  would  have  guessed  that  that  tuft  of 
gra  -  liid  a  hr.!i'.a.u  being;  not  even  a  Boer  would  have 
guosse.l  it,  unii'ss  he  had  happened  to  walk  right  on  to 
thi'  '  pv,  and  thee  k,  would  ha\  o  been  a  chance  but  that  the 
ilckaiitot  would  h.a.ve  managed  to  avoid  being  trodden  on 
and  osc;i])ed  der(?ction.  There  was,  again,  no  reason  why 
bo  should  hide  himself  in  tlu.s  fashion,  except  that  it  pleased 
bun  !n  do  so. 

Ih-i'  eutly  the  big  horse  approached,  and  the  snakelike 
durt'uitot  raised  his  head  ever  so  little  and  peered  out  with 
hi  ibc.idy  black  eyes  through  the  strawiike  grass  stems. 
They  f('ll  on  Muller’s  cold  face.  It  was  evident  that  he 
was  in  a  reflective  mood— in  an  angrily  reflective  mood. 
So  absorbed  was  he  that  he  nearly  let  his  h.orse.  whicli  was 
also  absorbed  by  the  near  prospect  of  a  comfortable  stall. 


JESS. 


81 


put  liid  foot  into  a  big  hole  that  a  wandering  antbear  had 
amused  himself  on  the  previous  night  by  digging  right  in 
the  center  of  the  road. 

“What  is  Baas  Frank  thinking  of,  I  wonder?'’  said 
Jantje  to  himself  as  hoi-se  and  man  passed  within  four  feet 
of  him.  Then  rising,  lie  crossed  the  road,  and  slipping 
round  by  a  back  Avaj''  like  a  fox  from  a  covert,  was  stand¬ 
ing  at  the  stable  door  with  a  va,cant  and  utterly  unohserv- 
ant  expression  of  face  some  seconds  before  the  black  horse 
and  its  rider  ha.d  reached  the  house. 

“I  will  give  them  one  more  chance,  just  one  more,” 
thought  the  handsome  Boer,  or  rather  half-breed  (for  it  will 
be  remembered  that  his  mother  was  English),  “and  if  they 
won’t  take  it,  then  let  their  fate  be  upon  their  own  heads, 
to-morrow  I  go  to  the  bymakaar  at  Paarde  Kraal  to  take 
counsel  with  Paul  Kruger  and  Pretorius,  and  the  other 
‘fathers  of  the  land,’  as  they  call  themselves.  If  I  throw 
in  my  weight  against  rebellion  there  will  be  no  rebellion; 
if  I  urge  it  there  will  be,  and  if  Om  Silas  ^vill  not  give  me 
Bessie,  and  Bessie  will  not  marry  me,  I  will  urge  it  even  if 
^t  plunge  the  whole  country  in  war  from  the  Cape  to 
Waterberg.  Patriotism!  independence!  taxes! — that  is 
«vhat  they  all  cry  till  the}^  begin  to  believe  it  themselves. 
Bah!  those  are  not  the  things  that  I  would  go  to  war  for; 
but  ambition  and  revenge,  ah!  that  is  another  thing.  I 
would  kill  them  all  if  they  stood  in  my  way,  all  except  Bes¬ 
sie.  If  war  breaks  out,  who  will  hold  up  a  liand  to  help 
the  ‘verdomde  Englesmann’?  They  would  all  be  afraid. 
And  it  is  not  my  fault.  Can  I  help  it  if  I  love  t  hat  woman? 
Can  I  help  it  if  my  blood  dries  up  with  longing  for  her, 
and  if  I  lie  awake  hour  by  hour  of  nights,  ay,  and  weep— 
I,  Frank  Muller,  who  saw  the  murdered  bodies  of  my  fa¬ 
ther  and  my  mother  and  shed  no  tear — because  she  hates 
me  and  will  not  look  favorably  upon  me? 

“Oh,  woman!  woman!  They  talk  of  ambition  and  of 
avarice,  and  of  self  preservation  as  the  keys  of  character 
and  action,  but  what  force  is  there  to  niove  us  like  a 
woman?  A  little  thing,  a  weak,  fragile  thing— a  toy  from 
which  the  rain  will  wash  the  paint  and  of  which  the  rust 
will  stop  the  working,  and  yet  a  thing  that  can  shake  the 
world  and  pour  out  blood  like  water,  and  bring  down  soi^ 
row  like  the  rain.  So!  I  stand  by  the  bowlder.  A  touch 
and  it  will  go  crashing  down  the  mountain- side  so  that 
the  world  hears  it.  Shall  I  send  it?  It  is  all  one  to  me. 
Let  Bessie  and  Om  Silas  judge.  I  would  slaughter  every 
Englishman  in  the  Traiisvaal  to  gain  Bessie  ay !  and  every 
Boer  too,  and  throw  all  the  natives  in;”  and  he  laughed 
aloud,  and  struck  the  great  black  horse,  making  it  plunge 
'“aner  gallootly. 


“And  tben, ”  bo  went  on.  giving  his  ambition  wing, 
I  have  got  Besfie  end  we  nave  kicked  all  these 
£nglisbmeii  out  of  the  land,  in  a  very  few  yeans  T  shall 
rule  tliis  country,  and  what  next?  Why,  then  I  n  ill  stir 
the  Dtitch  feeling  in  Kata!  and  in  tlie  old  colony,  and 
we  will  push  the  Englishmen  back  into  the  sea,  make  a 
clean  sweep  of  tlie  natives,  only  keeping  enough  for  serv- 
suts.  and  have  a  united  South  Africa,  like  that  poor,  silly 
man  Burgers  used  to  prate  of,  but  did  not  know  how  to 
hric'g  about.  A  united  Dutch  South  Africa  and  Frank 
Muller  to  rule  it!  Well,  such  things  have  been,  and  may 
be  again.  Give  me  forty  years  of  life  and  strength,  and 
we  shall  see - ” 

Just  then  he  reached  the  veranda  of  the  house,  and,  dis¬ 
missing  his  secret  ambitions  from  his  mind,  Frank  Muller 
dismounted  and  entered.  In  the  sitting-room  he  found 
Silas  Croft  reading  a  newspaper. 

“  Good-day,  Orii  Silas,”  he  said,  extending  his  hand. 

“Good  da3y  Meinheer  Frank  Muller,”  replied  the  old 
man  cokllyy  for  John  had  told  him  of  the  incident  at  the 
shooting  party  which  had  so  nearly  ended  fatally,  and 
though  lie  had  made  no  remark  he  had  formed  his  own 
conclusions. 

'  ‘  What  are  you  readmg  in  the  Volkstem,  Om  Silas— 
about  the  Bezuidenhout  anair?” 

“No;  what  was  that?” 

“  It  was  that  the  volk  are  rising  against  you  English, 
that  is  all.  The  sheidff  seized  Bezuidenhout’s  wagon  in  ex¬ 
ecution  of  taxes,  and  put  it  up  to  sale  at  Potchefstroom. 
But  the  volk  kicked  the  auctioneer  oflf  the  wagon  and 
hunted  him  round  the  town ;  and  now  Governor  Lanyon 
is  sending  Raaf  down  with  power  to  swear  in  special  con¬ 
stables  and  enforce  the  law  at  Potchefstroom.  He  might 
as  well  try  to  stop  a  river  by  throwing  stones.  Let  me 
see,  the  big  meeting  at  Paarde  Kraal  was  to  have  been  on 
the  fifteenth  of  December,  now  it  is  to  be  on  the  eighth, 
and  then  we  shall  see  if  it  will  be  peace  or  war.” 

"  Peace  or  war?”  answered  the  old  man  testily.  “That 
has  lieeji  the  cry  for  years.  How  many  big  meetings  have 
tlr.'re  been  since  Shepstone  annexed  the  country  ?  Six,  I 
thiidc.  A.nd  what  has  come  of  it  all?  Just  notlung  but 
talk.  And  v/hat  can  come  of  it?  Suppose  the  Boers  did 
fight,  what  would  the  end  of  it  be?  They  would  be  beaten, 
and  a-  lot  of  people  would  be  killed,  and  that  would  be  tl^ 
end  of  it.  You  don’t  suppose  that  England  would  give  in 
to  a  handful  of  Boers,  do  you?  What  did  General  Woli^e- 
ley  say  the  other  day  at  the  dinner  at  Potchefstroom? 
\Vhy,  that  the  country  would  never  be  given  up,  because 
lio  government.  Conservative,  Liberal,  or  Eadi  ;hl,  wmuld 


JESS. 


83 


dare  to  do  such  a  thing.  And  now  this  new  Gladstone 
Government  has  telegraphed  tlie  same  thing,  so  what  is 
the  use  of  all  the  talk  and  childishness?  Tell  me  that, 
Frank  Muller.” 

Muller  laughed  as  he  answered,  ”  You  are  all  very  simple 
people,  you  English.  DonT  you  know  that  a  go  Vermont  is 
like  a  woman  who  cries  ‘No,  no,  no,’  and  kisses  you  all 
the  time?  If  there  is  noise  enough,  your  British  Govern¬ 
ment  will  eat  its  words  and  give  Wolseley,  and  Shepstone, 
and  Bartle  Frere,  and  Laii3mn,  and  all  of  thejn  the  lie. 
This  is  a  bigger  business  than  jmu  think  for,  Om  Silas.  Of 
course  all  these  meetings  and  talk  are  got  up.  The  people 
are  angry  because  of  the  English  way  of  dealing  with  the 
natives,  and  because  they  have  to  pay  taxons;  and  they 
think  that,  now  that  you  English  have  paid  their  debts 
and  smashed  up  Sikukuni  and  Cetewayo,  they  would  like 
to  have  the  land  back.  Thej’’  were  glad  enough  for  you  to 
take  it  at  first;  now  it  is  another  matter.  But  still  that  is 
not  much.  If  they  were  left  to  themselves  nothing  would 
come  of  it  except  talk,  for  many  of  them  are  verj'  glad 
that  the  land'  shoidd  be  English,  But  the  men  who  pull 
the  strings  are  down  in  the  Cape.  They  want  to  drive 
every’-  Englishman  out  of  South  Africa.  When  Shepstone 
annexed  the  Transvaal  he  turned  the  scale  against  the 
Dutch  element  and  broke  up  the  plans  that  have  been  lay¬ 
ing  tor  years  to  make  a  big  anti-English  republic  of  the 
whole  country.  If  the  Ti’ansvaal  remains  English  there  is 
an  (uid  of  their  liopes,  for  only  the  Free  State  remains,  and 
that  is  hemmed  in.  Tliat  is  why  they"  are  so  angry,  and 
that  is  whyth.eir  tools  are  stirring  the  people  up.  They 
mean  to  make  them  tight  notv.  and  I  think  that  they"  Avill 
sucor-ed.  if  the  Boers  win  the  day  they"  wall  declare  them¬ 
selves;  if  not,  ya)u  will  hear  iiothing  of  them,  and  the 
Bo.’rs  wii!  the  brunt  of  it.  Tiiey  are  very  cunning 

people  tile  Cape  ‘  patriots,’  bnt  they  look  w-ell  after  them- 
selvo.s.” 

Silas  Croft  looked  troubled  and  made  no  answer,  and 
Franlt  Muller  rose  and  stared  out  of  the  window. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PRANK  MULLER  SHOtVS  IIIS  IIA?TD. 

Presently  Muller  turned  round.  “Do  y"OU  know  why 
I  have  told  y"ou  all  this,  Om  Silas?”  he  a.sked. 

”  No.” 

”  Because  I  Avant  y"OU  to  understaud  that  you  and  all  tlie 
Englishmen  in  this  country"  are  in  a  very"  dangerous  posi¬ 
tion.  The  AA"ar  is  coming,  and  whether  i  voes  for  you  or 
against  y’-Qii,  y"Ou  must  suffer.  YouE  -y'-  •  •eu  have  many 


encmiofl.  You  nave  got  all  tha  trade  and  own  nearly  half 
the  laud,  and  you  are  always  standing  up  for  the  black 
people,  whom  the  Boers  hate.  It  will  go  hard  with  you  if 
tla.'re  i-  a  umr.  You  will  be  shot,  and  your  houses  will  be 
biu-ut.  and  if  you  lose  the  day,  those  who  escape  will  be 
d)‘i  v(‘;i  o.it  of  the  country.  It  will  be  the  Transvaal  for  the 
Trau.'-va.ilers,  then,  and  Africa  for  the  Africanders.” 

*•  Wed.  Frank  Muller,  and  if  all  this  should  come  to  pass, 
what  of  id  What  are  you  driving  at,  Frank  Muller?  You 
don’t  siio.v me  y<.  tir  hand  like  this  for  nothing.” 

The  Boor  kiugiied.  ”  Of  course  I  aon’t,  Om  Silas.  Well, 
if  yo  i  \va,;ii  to  kno.v,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  mean.  I  mean 
that  I  alo.ie  can  protect  you  and  your  place  and  people  in 
the  bad  times  that  are  coming.  I  have  more  influence  in 
the  land  tliau  you  know  of.  Perhaps  ev'en,  I  could  stave 
off  the  war.  and  if  it  suited  me  to  do  so  I  would  do  it.  At 
the  least  I  could  keep  you  from  being  harmed,  that  I  know. 
But  I  Irive  iuy  price.  Om  Silas,  as  we  all  have,  and  it  must 
be  money  down  and  no  credit.” 

”  I  don’t  understand  you  and  your  dark  sayings,”  said 
the  old  man,  coldly.  "I  am  a  straightforward  man,  and 
if  you,  will  tell  me  what  you  mean  I  will  give  you  my  an- 
swei  :  if  not,  I  don't  see  the  good  of  our  going  on  talking.” 

“  Very  well,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  mean.  I  mean 
Bessie.  I  mean  that  I  love  your  niece  and  want  to  marry, 
her  —ay.  I  mean  to  marry  her  by  fair  means  or  foul — and 
that  she  will  have  nothing  to  say  to  me.” 

“  And  what  have  I  to  do  with  that,  Frank  Muller?  The 
girl  is  her  own  mistress.  I  cannot  dispose  of  her  in  mar 
riage.  even  if  I  Av;inted  to,  as  though  she  were  a  colt  or  an. 
ox.  You  must  plead  your  own  suit  and  take  your  own  an¬ 
swer.” 

'■  I  liave  pleaded  my  suit  and  got  my  answer,”  answered 
the  Boer  with  passion.  “Don’t  you  understand  she  will 
ha^■o  noihing  to  say  to  me.  She  is  iii  love  Avith  that 
damned  rooihaatje  Niei  whom  you  have  brought  up  here. 
Sh(^  is  in  love  with  him,  I  say,  and  will  not  look  at  me.” 

“Ah,'’  ro'plied  Silas  Croft,  calmly,  “is  it  so?  Then  she 
shows  very  good  taste,  for  John  Niel  is  an  honest  man, 
Frank  Mulk'r,  and  you  are  not.  Liste.n  to  me,”  he  went 
on,  with  a  sudden  outburst  of  passion;  “I  tell  you  that 
you  are  a  dishonorable  mtin  and  a  villain.  I  tell  you  that 
you  murdered  the  Hottentot  Jantje’s  father,  mother,  and 
uncle  in  cold  blood  when  you  were  yet  a  lad.  I  tell  you 
that  the  other  day  you  tried  to  murder  John  Niel,  pretend¬ 
ing  to  mistake  him  for  a  buck !  And  now  you,  who  peti¬ 
tioned  for  this  country  to  be  taken  over  by  the  queen,  and 
have  gone  round  singing  out  your  loyalty  at  the  top  of 
your  voice,  conu;  aivl  tell  me  that  you  are  plotting  to  bring 


^ESS. 


about  an  insurrection  and  to  plunge  the  land  into  war,  and 
ask  me  for  Bessie  as  the  price  of  your  protection !  And 
now  I  will  tell  you  something  in  answer,  Frank  Muller,” 
and  the  old  man  rose  up,  his  keen  eyes  flashing  in  wrath, 
and,  strcUghtening  his  bent  frame,  pointed  toward  the  door. 
“  Go  out  of  that  door  and  never  come  through  it  again.  I 
rely  upon  God  and  the  English  nation  to  protect  me,  and 
not  on  such  as  you,  and  I  would  rather  see  my  dear  Bessie 
dead  in  her  coffin  than  married  to  a  knave  and  traitor  and 
a  murderer  like  Frank  Muller.  Go!” 

The  Boer  turned  white  with  fury  as  he  listened.  Twice 
he  tried  to  speak  and  failed,  and  when  the  words  did  come 
they  were  so  choked  and  ladened  with  passion  as  to  be 
scarcely  audible.  When  thwarted  he  was  liable  to  these 
accesses  of  rage,  and  they,  figuratively  speaking,  spoilt  his 
character.  Could  he  have  kept  his  head,  he  would  have 
been  a  perfect  and  triumphant  villain,  but  as  it  v'as,  the 
carefully  planned  and  audacious  rascality  of  years  was  al¬ 
ways  apt  to  be  swept  away  by  the  sudden  gale  of  his  furi¬ 
ous  passion.  It  was  in  such  an  outburst  of  rage  that  he 
had  assaulted  John  in  the  inn  yard  at  Wakkerstroom,  and 
thereby  put  him  on  his  guard  against  him,  and  now  it 
mastered  him  once  more. 

“Very  well,  Silas  Croft,”  he  said  at  last,  “  I  will  go;  but 
mark  this,  I  will  come  back,  and  when  I  come  it  shall  be 
with  men  armed  with  rifles.  I  will  burn  this  pretty  place 
of  yours,  that  you  are  so  proud  of,  over  jmur  head,  and  I 
will  kill  you  and  your  friend  the  Englishman,  and  take 
Bessie  away,  and  very  soon  she  shall  be  glad  enough  to 
marry  Frank  Muller;  but  then  I  will  not  marry  her — no, 
not  if  she  goes  on  her  knees  to  me — and  she  shall  go  on  her 
knees  often  enough.  We  will  see  then  what  God  and  the 
English  nation  will  do  to  protect  you.  God  and  the  Eng¬ 
lish  nation !  Call  on  the  sheep  and  the  horses ;  call  on  the 
rocks  and  the  trees,  and  you  will  get  a  better  answer.” 

“  Go  I”  thundered  the  old  man,  “  or  by  the  God  you  blas¬ 
pheme  I  will  put  a  bullet  through  you,”  and  he  reached 
toward  a  rifle  that  hung  over  the  mantel-piece,  “or  my 
Kafirs  shall  whip  you  off  the  place.  ’  ’ 

Frank  Muller  waited  for  no  more.  He  turned  and  went. 
It  was  dark  now,  but  there  was  still  sojne  light  in  the  sky 
at  the  end  of  the  blue  gums  avenue,  and  as  he  rode  away 
against  it  he  made  out  Bessie’s  tall  and  graceful  form  softly 
outlined  xipon  the  darkening  night.  J ohn  had  left  her  to  see 
about  some  pressing  matter  connected  with  the  farm,  and 
there  she  stood,  filled  with  the  great  joy  of  a  wornan  who 
has  found  her  love,  and  Ipth  as  yet  to  break  its  spell  by  en¬ 
tering  again  ipto  the  daily  round  of  common  life. 

There  slae  stood,  a  type  and  symbol  of  all  that  is  beauti- 


86 


JESS. 


ful  and  j^a  acions  m  this  rough  world,  the  lovelights  shining 
in  her  blue  eyes  and  thoughts  of  hai^py  gratitude  to  the 
Giver  of  all  good  rising  from  her  heart  to  Heaven,  drawn 
up  thither,  as  it  were,  by  the  warmth  of  her  pure  passion, 
as  the  dew  mists  of  the  moi'ning  are  drawn  up  want  by  the 
sun.  There  she  was  so  good,  so  happy,  and  so  sweet;  an 
answer  to  the  woidd's  evil,  a  symbol  of  the  "world’s  joy, 
and  an  incarnation  of  the  Avorld's  beauty!  Who  but  a 
merciful  and  almighty  Father  can  create  children  such  as 
she.  so  lovely,  so  lovable,  and  set  them  on  the  world  as  He 
sets'the  stars  upon  the  sky  to  light  it  and  make  beholders 
think  of  holy  things,  and  "v^’ho  but  man  could  have  the 
heart  to  tui’ii  such  as  she  to  the  base  uses  to  which  they  are 
daily  turned. 

Presently  she  heard  the  horSe’s  hoofs,  and  looked  i;p,  so 
that  the  famt  light  fell  full  upon  her  face,  idealizing  it, 
and  making  its  passion-breathing  beauty  seem  more  of 
heaven  than  of  earth.  There  was  some  look  upon  it, 
some  indefinable  light  that  day — such  is  the  power  that 
love  has  to  infuse  all  human  things  with  the  tint  of 
his  own  splendor — that  it  went  even  to  the  heart  of  the 
wild  and  evil  man  who  adored  her  with  the  deep  and  sav¬ 
age  force  of  his  dark  nature.  For  a  moment  he  pa-used, 
half  regretful,  half  afraid.  Was  it  -well  to  meddle  with 
her,  and  to  build  up  plans  for  her  overthrow  and  that  of 
all  she  clung  to?  Would  it  not  be  better  to  let  her  be,  to 
gohisw^ay  and  leave  her  to  go  hers,  in  peace?  She  did 
not  look  quite  like  a  woman  standing  there,  but  more  like 
something  belonging  to  another  world,  some  subject  of  a 
higher  power.  Men  of  powerful  but  undisciplined  irnel- 
lect  like  Frank  Muller  are  never  entirely  free  from  super¬ 
stition,  however  free  they  may  be  from  religion,  and  he 
grew  superstitious  as  he  w'^as  apt  to  do.  Might  there  not 
be  an  uiiknown  penalty  for  treading  such  a  flower  as  that 
into  the  mire — into  mire  mixed  perchance  with  the  blood 
of  those  she  loved? 

For  a  few  seconds  he  hesitated.  Should  he  throw  up  the 
whole  thii'ig,  leave  the  rebellion  to  look  after  itself,  marry 
one  of  Hans  Coetzee’s  daughters,  and  trek  to  the  old  col¬ 
ony,  or  Bechuanaland,  or  anywhere?  His  hand  began  to 
tighten  on  his  bridle-rein,  and  the  horse  to  answer  to  the 
pressure.  As  a  first  step  toward  it,  he  would  turn  away 
to  the  left  and  avoid  her,  when  suddenlj'"  the  thought  of 
his  successful  rival  flashed  into  his  mind.  What!  leave 
her  w'ith  that  man?  Never!  He  had  rather  kill  her  with 
his  own  hand.  In  another  second  he  had  sprung  from  his 
horse,  and,  befoi’e  she  had  guessed^  who  it  was,  ■\vas  stand¬ 
ing  face  to  face  with  her.  The  strength  of  hi-<  iealoits  do* 
overpowered  him. 


JESS. 


81 


All!  I  thought  ho  had  como  after  missio,'"  Jantje, 
who.  pursuing  his  former  tactics,  was  once  more  indulging 
his  passion  of  slinking  about  behind  trees  and  in  tufts  of 
grass.  “  Now,  what  will  inissie  say  ?” 

“How  are  you,  Bessie?''  he  said,  in  a  quiet  voice;  but 
Hie,  looking  i:ito  his  face,  saw  that  it  belied  liis  voice.  It 
was  alive  with  evil  passions  that  seemed  to  make  it  posi¬ 
tively  lurid,  an  effect  that  its  undoubted  beauty  only  in¬ 
tensified. 

“  I  am  quite  well,  thank  you,  Mr.  Muller,”  she  answered, 
as  she  began  to  move  homeward,  commanding  her  voice  as 
v/ell  as  she  could,  but  feeling  dreadfully  frightened  and 
lonely.  She  knew  something  of  her  admirer's  character, 
and  feared  to  be  left  alone  with  him  so  far  from  any  help, 
for  nobody  was  about  now,  and  they  were  more  than 
three  hundred  yards  from  the  house. 

He  stood  before  her  so  that  she  could  not  pass  without 
actually  pushing  past  him.  “Why  are  you  in  such  a 
hurry?”  he  said.  “You  were  standing  still  enough  just 
now.” 

“It  is  time  for  me  to  be  getting  in.  I  want  to  see  about 
the  supper.”  ' 

“  The  supper  can  wait  awhile,  Bessie,  and  I  cannot  wait. 
I  am  going  off  to  Paarde  Kraal  to-morrow  at  daybreak,  and 
I  want  to  say  good-bye  to  you  first.” 

“Good-bye,”  she  said,  more  frightened  than  ever  at  his 
curious  constrained  manner,  and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

He  took  it  and  held  it. 

“  Please  let  me  go,”  she  s'aid. 

“  Not  till  you  have  heard  what  I  have  to  say.  Look  here, 
Bessie,  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart.  I  know  you  think  I 
am  only  a  Boer,  but  I  am  more  than  that.  I  have  been  to 
the  Cape  and  seen  the  world.  I  have  brains  and  can  see 
and  understand  things,  and  if  you  will  marry  me  I  will  lift 
yon  up.  You  shall  be  one  of  the  greatest  ladies  in  Africa, 
though  I  am  only  plain  Prank  Muller  now.  Great  things 
are  going  to  happen  in  the  couniry,  and  I  shall  be  at  the 
head  of  them,  or  near  it.  No.  don’t  try  to  get  avyay.  I 
tell  you  I  love  yon,  you  don’t  know  how.  I  am  dying  for 
jmu.  Oh!  can’t  you  believe  me,  my  darling!  my  darling! 
YYs,  I  xvill  kiss  yon,”  and  in  an  agony  of  passion,  that  her 
resistance  only  fired  the  more,  he  flung  his  sti'ong  arms 
round  her  and  drew  her  to  his  breast,  fight  as  she  ^yould. 

But  at  this  opportune  moment  an  une.vpected  diversion 
occuri’ed,  of  which  the  hidden  Jante  was  the  cause.  See 
ing  that  matters  were  getting  serious,  and  being  afraid  to 
show  himself  lest  Frank  Muller  should  kill  him  then  and 
there,  as  lie  would  indeed  have  been  quite  ca;  nblecf  doing, 
ho  bit  upon  another  expedient,  to  the  serv.vM  of  ,-vhich  he 


88 


JESS. 


brought  a  ventriloquistic  power  which  is  not  uncommcwji 
among  natives.  Suddenly  tli  !  silence  wnis  broken  by  a 
frightful  and  prolonged  wail  that  seemed  to  shape  itself 
into  the  word  “  Frank.”  and  to  proceed  from  the  air  just 
above  the  struggling  Bessie's  hea.d.  The  effect  iDroduced 
upon  Muller  was  something  wonderful. 

”  Allemachter !”  he  cried,  looking  up,  ”  it  is  ray  mother’s 
voice!” 

”  FrarJc!"  wailed  the  voice  again,  and  he  let  go  of  Bessie 
in  his  perplexity  and  fear,  and  turned  round  to  try  and  dis¬ 
cover  whence  the  sound  proceeded— a  circumsi.ance  that 
the  young  lady  took  advantage  of  to  beat  a  rapid  if  not 
very  dignified  retreat. 

"'Frank!  Frank!  Frank!"  wailed  and  howled  the  voice 
TjOw  overhead,  now  on  this  side,  now  on  that,  till  at  last 
Muller,  thoroughly  mystified  and  feeling  his  superstitious 
fears  rising  apace  as  the  moaning  sound  flitted  about  be¬ 
neath  the  dark  arch  of  the  gum-trees,  made  a  rush  tor  his 
horse,  which  was  standing  snorting  and  trembling  in  every 
limb.  It  is  almost  as  easy  to  work  upon  the  superstitious 
fears  of  a  dog  or  a  horse  as  upon  those  of  a  man,  but  Mul¬ 
ler,  not  being  aware  of  this,  took  the  animal’s  alarm  as  a 
clear  indication  of  the  uncanny  nature  of  the  voice.  With 
a  single  bound  he  sprung  into  his  saddle,  and  as  he  did  so 
the  woman  a  voice  wailed  out  once  more: 

Frank,  thou  shalt  die  in  blood  as  I  did,  Frank!” 

Muller  turned  livid  with  fear,  and  the  cold  perspii-ation 
stren,med  from  his  face.  He  was  a  bold  man  enough  in  a 
geuf'ral  way,  but  this  was  too  much  for  his  nerves. 

It  is  my  mother’s  voice,  it  is  her  very  words!”  he  called 
out  aloud,  and  then,  dashing  his  spurs  into  his  horse's 
flanks,  he  went  like  a  flash  aw;iy  from  the  accursed  spot; 
nor  did  he  draw  rein  till  lie  came  t  o  his  own  place  ten  miles 
away.  Twice  the  horse  fell  in  ilie  darkness,  for  there  was 
no  moon,  the  second  time  throwing  him  heavily,  but  he 
only  dragged  it  up  with  a  curse,  and  springing  into  the 
saddle  again  fled  on  as  before. 

Thus  did  the  man  who  did  not  hesitate  to  plot  and  to  ex¬ 
ecute  the  cruel  slaughter  of  unotfendijig  men  cower  beneath 
the  fancied  echo  of  a.  dead  woman’s  voice!  Truly,  human 
uatiire  is  full  of  contradictions! 

When  the  thunder  of  the  hoi'se’s  hoofs  grew  faint,  Jantje 
emerged  from  one  of  his  hiding-places,  and,  throwing 
himself  down  in  the  center  of  the  dusty  road,  kicked  and 
rolled  with  delight,  shaking  all  tlie  while  with  an  inward 
joy  that  his  habits  of  caution  would  not  permit  him  to 
give  audible  vent  to.  ‘‘His  mother’s  voice,  his  mother’s 
words,”  he  quoted  to  himself.  ‘‘How  should  he  know 
that  JanMe  remembers  the  old  woman’s  voice — ay,  and 


JESS.  89 

fho  words  that  the  devil  in  her  spoke  too?  Hee!  heel 

heeT’ 

finally  he  departed  to  eat  his  snpper  of  beef,  which  he 
had  cut  off  an  unfortunate  ox  that  had  that  niorning  ex- 
pired  of  a  mysterious  complication  of  diseases,  filled  with  a 
hrippy  sense  that  he  had  not  lived  that  day  in  vain. 

Dossio  fled  without  stopping  till  she  reached  the  orange- 
trees  in  front  of  the  veranda,  where,  reassured  by  the 
lights  from  the  windows,  she  paused  to  consider.  Not 
that  she  was  troubled  by  Jantje’s  mysterious  howling;  in¬ 
deed,  she  was  too  preoccupied  to  give  it  a  second  thought. 
What  she  was  debating  was  whether  she  should  say  any¬ 
thing  about  her  encounter  with  Frank  Muller.  Young 
ladies  are  not,  as  a  rule,  too  fond  of  informing  their  hus¬ 
bands  or  lovers  that  somebody  has  kissed  them,  first,  be¬ 
cause  they  know  that  it  will  force  them  to  make  a  dis¬ 
turbance  and  possibly  to  i)lace  themselves  in  a  ridiculous 
position;  and,  secondly,  because  they  fear  lest  suspicious 
man  might  take  the  story  with  a  grain  of  salt,  and  might 
even  suggest  that  thej^  were  themselves  to  blame.  Both 
these  reasons  presented  themselves  to  Bessie’s  practical 
mind,  and  also  the  further  one,  namely,  that  he  had  not 
kissed  her  after  all,  so  on  a  rapid  leview  of  the  whole  case 
she  came  to  the  decision  to  say  nothing  to  John  about  it,  and 
only  enough  to  her  uncle  to  get  him  to  forbid  Frank  Muller 
the  house — an  unnecessary  precaution,  as  the  reader  will 
remember.  Then,  after  pausing  for  a  few  seconds  to  pick 
a  branch  of  orange  blossoms  and  to  become  herself  gener¬ 
ally,  which,  not  being  hysterically  inclined,  she  very  soon 
did,  she  quietly  entered  the  house  as  though  nothing  had 
happened.  The  very  first  person  she  met  was  John  him¬ 
self,  who  had  come  in  by  the  back  way.  He  laughed  at 
her  orange-blossom  bouquet,  and  said  that  it  was  most  ap¬ 
propriate,  and  then  proceeded  to  cmbx'ace  her  tenderly  in 
the  passage;  and  indeed  he  would  have  been  a  poor  sorb 
of  lover  if  he  had  not.  It  was  exactly  at  this  juncture 
that  old  Silas  Croft  happened  to  open  the  sitting  rconi 
door  and  come  full  upon  this  tender  and  attractive  tab¬ 
leau. 

“  Well,  I  never!”  said  the  old  gentleman.  ”  What  is  the 
meaning  of  all  this,  Bessie  i” 

Of  course  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  corne  in  and 
explain  the  facts  of  the  case,  which  John  did  with  much 
humming  and  ha-ingand  a  general  awkwardness  of  man¬ 
ner  that  baffles  description,  while  Bessie  stood  by,  her 
hand  upon  her  lover’s  shoulder,  blushing  as  red  as  any 
rose. 

The  old  man  listened  in  silevicc  till  John  had  finished,  a 
smile  imon  his  face  and  a  kindly  twinkle  in  his  keen  eyes. 


90 


JESS. 


“So,”  he  said,  “  that  is  what  you  young  people  have  been 
after,  is  I  suppose  that  you  went  to  enlarge  your  in¬ 
terests  i:i  the  farm,  eh,  John?  Well,  upon  my  word,! 
don’t  blame  you;  you  might  have  gone  further  and  fared 
Avorse.  Those  sort  of  things  nev'er  come  singly,  it  seems. 
I  had  another  request  for  your  hand,  my  dear,  only  this 
aftei-noon,  from  that  scoundrel  Frank  Kuller,  of  all 
men  in  the  world,”  and  his  face  darkened  as  he  said  the 
name.  “  I  sent  liim  oif  with  a  flea  in  his  ear,  I  can  tell 
you.  Had  I  known  then  what  I  know  now,_I  should  have 
referred  him  to  John.  There,  there!  lie  is  a  bad  man, 
and  a  dangerous  man,  but  let  him  be.  He  is  taking  plenty 
of  rope,  and  he  will  hang  himself  one  of  these  days.  AVell, 
my  dears,  this  is  the  best  bit  of  news  that  I  have  heo,rd  for 
many  a  long  day.  It  is  time  you  got  married,  both  of  you,, 
for  it  is  not  riglit  for  man  to  live  alone,  or  Avoman  either. 
I  have  done  it  all  my  life,  and  that  is  the  conclusion  I  have 
come  to  after  thinking  the  matter  over  for  someAvhere  about 
fifty  years.  Yes,  you  have  my  consent  and  my  blc.ssing, 
too,  and  you  Avill  have  something  more  one  day  before  so 
very  long.  Take  her,  John,_  take  her.  I  haAm  led  a  rough 
life,  but  I  haA^e  seen  something  of  Avoman  for  all  that,  and 
I  tell  you  that  there  is  not  asAveeter  or  a  better  or  a  prettier 
woman  in  South  Africa  than  Bessie  Croft,  and  in  AAmnting 
to  marry  her  3mu  have  shown  your  sense.  God  bless  3'ou 
both,  mv  dears;  and  noAV,  Bessie,  come  and  give  your  old 
uncle  a  kiss.  I  hope  that  you  won’t  let  John  quite  drive 
me  out  of  your  head,  that’s  all,  for  you  see,  my  dear,  hav- 
no  children  of  my  OAvn,  I  haA^e  managed  to  got  A^ery  fond 
of  you  in  the  last  tw^elA'e  j-ears  or  so.” 

Be.ssie  came  and  kissed  the  old  man  tenderly. 

“No,  uncle,”  she  said,  “  neilher  John  nor  anybody  nor 
anything  in  the  Avorld  can  do  that,”  and  it  Avas  CA’ident 
from  her  manner  that  she  meant  Avhat  she  said.  Bessie 
ha,d  a  large  heart,  and  Avas  not  at  all  the  person  to  let  her 
lover  drive  her  uncle  and  benefactor  out  of  his  share  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

JOHN  TO  THE  RESCUE. 

The  important  domestic  events  described  in  tne  last 
chapter  took  place  on  December  7,  1880,  and  for  the  next 
tAvelve  days  or  so  eA-^erything  Avent  as  happily  at  Mooifon- 
tein  as  things  slmuld  go  under  the  circumstances.  Every 
day  Silas  Croft  beamed  Avith  a  more  enlarged  genialitj"  in 
his  satisfaction  at  the  turn  that  things  had  taken,  and 
CAmrv  day  Jolm  found  cause  to  congratulate  himself  more 
and  inore  on  the  Fsuo  of  his  bold  venture  tOAvard  matri¬ 
mony.  that  ho  came  to  be  on  sucli  intimate  terms 


JESS. 


91 


~ 

with  his  betrothed,  he  perceived  a  hundred  charms  and 
graces  in  her  character  which  he  had  never  suspecte< I  be¬ 
fore  Bessie  was  like  a  flower— the  more  she  basked  in  tlie 
lighc  and  warmth  of  her  love  the  more  her  character 
opened  and  unfolded,  shedding  perfumed  sweetness  round 
her,  and  revealing  unguessed  charms.  It  is  so  with  all 
women,  and  more  especially  with  a  woman  of  her  stamp, 
'whom  nature  has  made  to  love  and  be  loved  as  maid  and 
wife  and  mother.  Her  undoubted  personal  beauty  also 
shared  in  this  development,  her  fair  face  taking  a  richer 
hue  and  her  eyes  an  added  depth  and  meaning.  She  Avas  in 
every  respect,  save  one,  all  that  a  man  could  desire  in  his 
wife,  and  even  the  exception  was  one  that  would  have 
stood  to  her  credit  with  most  men.  It  was  this :  she  was 
not  an  intellectual  woman,  although  she  certainly  possessed 
more  than  the  ordinary  share  of  intelligence  and  work- 
a-day  common  sense.  Now  John  was  a  decidedly  intel¬ 
lectual  man,  and,  what  is  more,  he  highly  appreciated  that 
rare  quality  in  the  other  sex.  But  after  all,  Avhen  one  is 
just  engaged  to  a  sweet  and  lovely  woman,  one  does  not 
tliiuk  much  about  her  intellect.  Those  sort  of  reflections 
come  afterward. 

And  so  they  sauntered  hand  in  hand  through  the  sunny 
days,  and  were  exceedingly  happy.  Least  of  all  did  they 
allow  the  rumors  which  occasionally  reached  them  from 
[he  great  Boer  gatheiing  at  Paarde  Kraal  to  disturb  their 
serenity.  There  had  been  so  many  of  these  rumors  of  re¬ 
bellion  that  folks  Avere  getting  to  regard  them  as  a  chronic 
state  of  affairs. 

“  Oh,  the  Boers!'’  said  Bessie,  Avith  a  pretty  toss  of  her 
golden  head,  as  they  Avere  sitting  one  morning  on  the 
A  eranda.  “  I  am  sick  to  death  of  hearing  {ibout  the  Boers 
and  all  their  got-up  talk.  1  knoAv  Avhat  it  is;  it  is  just  an 
e.'cciise  for  them  to  go  away  from  their  farms  and  wivt's  aiid 
children  and  idle  aljout  at  these  great  meetings,  and^  drink 
square-face  with  their  mouths  full  of  big  Avqrds.  You  see 
V  hat  Jess  says  in  her  last  letter.  People  in  Pretoria  be¬ 
lieve  that  it  is  aii  nonsense  from  beginning  to  end.  and  I 
think  they  are  perfectly  right.” 

■'By  theAvay,  Bessie,”  asked  John,  “have  you  Avritten 
to  Jess  telling  her  of  our  engagement?” 

“  Oh,  yes,  I  wrote  some  days  ago,  but  the  letter  only 
went  yesterda3n  She  Avill.  be  pleased  to  iiear  about  it. 
Dear  old  Je.ss,  I  Avonder  when  she  means  to  come  home 

again.  She  has  been  away  long  enough.”  _  ... 

J-,.!m  1:  .ade  no  ansAver.  but  went  on  smoking  lus  pipe  in 
sik’i.ctg  wcmd.ering  if  Jess  Avould  be  pleased.  lie  did  not 
nndeiwtand  her  yet.  Slie  had  gone  aAvay  just  a.)  be  i-a.^be' 
giiini:  g  10  understand  lier 


n 


jms. 


Presently  he  observed  Jantje  sneaking  about  betv^een  (ha 
orange-trees  as  though  he  wished  to  call  attention  to  him¬ 
self.  Had  he  not  wanted  to  do  so  he  would  have  mo\  ed 
from  one  to  the  other  in  such  a  way  that  nobody  could  have 
seen  him.  His  partial  and  desultory  appearances  indicated 
that  he  was  on  view. 

“Come  out  of  those  trees,  you  little  rascal,  and  stop  slip¬ 
ping  about  like  a  snake  in  a  stonewall!”  shouted  John. 
“What  is  it  you  want — Avages?” 

Thus  adjured,  Jantje  advanced  and  sat  down  on  the  path 
as  usual,  in  the  full  glare  of  the  sun. 

“No,  Baas,”  he  said,  “  it  is  not  Avages.  They  are  not  due 
yet.” 

“What  is  it,  then?” 

“No,  Baas,  it  is  this.  The  Boers  hax’e  declared  war  on 
the  English  Government,  and  they  haA-e  eaten  up  the  rooi- 
baatjes  at  Bronker’s  Spruit,  near  Middelburg.  Joubert 
shot  them  all  there  the  day  befoi'e  j-esterday.” 

“What!”  shouted  John,  letting  his  pipe  fall  in  his  aston¬ 
ishment.  “Stop,  though,  that  must  be  a  lie.  You  say 
near  Middelburg,  the  day  before  yesterday;  that  would  be 
December  20.  When  did  you  hear  this?” 

“At  daybreak,  Baas.  A  Basutii  told  me.” 

“Then  there  is  an  end  of  it.  The  news  could  not  haA^e 
got  here  in  thirty-eight  houi-s.  What  do  you  mean  b 
coming  to  me  Avith  such  a  tale?” 

The  Hottentot  smiled.  “It  is  quite  true.  Baas.  Ban 
news  flies  like  a  bird,”  and  he  picked  himself  up  and  slip 
ped  off  to  his  Avork. 

NotAvithstanding  the  apparent  impossibility  of  the  thing, 
John  was  considerably  disturbed,  knoAving  the  extraoi’di- 
nary  speed  with  Avhich  news  does  travel  among  Kafirs, 
more  swiftly,  indeed,  than  the  swiftest  mounted  messen¬ 
ger  can  bear  it.  LeaAung  Bessie,  Avho  Avas  also  somev\  hat 
alarmed,  he  Avent  in  search  of  Silas  Croft,  and,  finding 
him  in  the  garden,  told  him  Avhat  Jantje  had  said.  The 
old  man  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  the  tale,  but,  re¬ 
membering  Frank  Muller’s  threats,  he  shook  his  heatl. 

“If  there  is  any  truth  in  it,  that  A'illain  Muller  has  a 
hand  in  it,”  he  said.  “  I'll  go  to  the  house  and  see  Jantje. 
Give  me  your  arm,  John.” 

lie  obeyed,  and,  on  getting  to  the  top  of  the  steep  path, 

Eei’ceiA’ed  the  stout  figure  of  old  Hans  Cootzee,  Avho  had 
een  his  host  at  the  shooting -party,  ambling  along  on  his 
fat  little  pony. 

“Ah,”  said  old  Silas.  “  here  is  the  man  Avho  Avill  tell  us 
if  there  is  anything  in  it  at  all. 

“Good- day,  Om  Coetzee,  good-day!”  1  shoux'd  out  in 


JESS. 


93 


-# 


his  stentorian  tone.  “What  news  do  you  brin^  with 
you?” 

The  jolly-looking  Boer  rolled  awkwardly  off  his  pony 
before  answering,  and,  throwing  the  reins  over  his  head, 
came  to  meet  them. 

“  Allemachter,  Om  Silas,  it  is  bad  news.  You  have 
heard  of  the  ‘  bymakaar  ’  [meeting]  at  Paarde  Kraal. 
Frank  Muller  wanted  me  to  go,  but  I  would  not.  and  now 
they  have  declared  war  on  the  British  Government  and 
sent  a  proclamation  to  Lanyon.  There  will  be  fighting, 
Om  Silas,  the  land  will  run  with  blood,  and  the  poor  rooi- 
baatjes  will  be  shot  down  like  buck.  ” 

“The  poor  Boers,  you  mean,”  grov.led  John,  who  did 
not  like  to  hear  her  majesty’s  arm 3^  talked  of  in  terms  of 
regretful  pity. 

Om  Coetzee  shook  his  head  with  the  air  of  one  who  knew 
all  about  it,  and  then  turned  an  attentive  ear  to  Silas 
Croft’s  version  of  Jantje's  story. 

“ Allemachter !”  groaned  Coetzee,  “what  did  I  tell  you? 
The  poor  rooibaatjes  shot  down  like  buck,  and  the  land 
running  with  blood.  And  now  that  Frank  Muller  will 
draw  me  into  it,  and  I  shall  have  to  go  and  shoot  the  poor 
rooibaatjes;  and  I  can’t  miss,  trj'  as  hard  as  I  will,  I  can’t 
miss.  And  when  we  have  shot  them  ail  I  suppose  that 
Burgers  will  come  back,  and  be  is  ‘  kransick  ’  [madj.  Yes, 
yes;  Lanyon  is  bad,  but  Burgers  is  worse,”  and  the  com¬ 
fortable  old  gentleman  groaned  aloud  at  the  troubles  in 
which  he  foresaw  he  would  be  involved,  and  finallj'  took 
his  departure  by  a  bridle-path  over  the  mountain,  saying 
that,  as  things  had  turned  out,  he  would  not  like  it  to  be 
known  that  he  had  been  calling  on  an  Englishman.  “  They 
might  think  that  I  was  not  loyal  to  the  ‘land.’  ”  he  added 
in  explanation;  “the  land  which  we  Boers  bought  with  our 
blood,  and  which  we  shall  win  back  with  our  blood,  what 
ever  the  poor  ‘  pack-oxen  ’  of  rooibaatjes  tr^"  to  do.  Ah, 
those  poor,  poor  rooibaatjes.  one  Boer  will  drive  away 
twenty  of  them  and  make  them  run  across  the  veldt,  if 
they  can  run  in  those  great  knapsacks  of  theii’S,  with  the 
tin  things  hanging  round  them  like  the  pots  and  kettles  to 
the  bed-plank  of  a  wagon.  What  says  the  Hol^^  Book, 

‘  One  thousand  shall  flee  at  the  rebuke  of  one.  and  at  the 
rebuke  of  five  shall  ye  flee,’  at  least  I  think  that  is  it.  Tlie 
dear  Lord  knew  what  was  coming  when  He  wrote  it.  He 
was  thinking  of  the  Boers  and  the  poor  rooibaatjes,”  and 
he  departed,  shaking  his  head  sadl^u 

“  1  am  glad  that  the  old  gentleman  has  made  tracks,” 
said  John,  “for  if  he  had  gone  on  much  longer  about  the 
poor  English  soldiers  he  would  have  fled  at  the  rebuke  of 
Gu.3,  ]  ^-11  tell  him.” 


94 


JESS. 


“  John,”  saia  oiias  Cmft,  suddenly,  ” you  must  go  i;p  to 
Pretoria  and  fetch  Jess.  Mark  my  words,  the  Boers  will 
besiege  Pretoria,  and  if  we  don’t  get  her  down  at  once  she 
Will  he  shut  up  there.” 

“Oh,  no,”  cried  Bessie,  in  sudden  alarm,  “I  cannot  let 
John  go.” 

“  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  talk  like  that,  Bessie,  when 
your  sister  is  in  danger,”  answered  her  uncle,  rather 
sternly;  “  but  there,  I  dare  say  that  it  is  natural.  I  will 
go  myself.  Where  is  Jantje?  I  shall  want  the  Cape  cart 
and  the  four  gi’ay  horses.  ’  ’ 

“No,  uncle,  dear,  John  shall  go.  1  was  not  thinking 
what  I  was  saying.  It  seemed — a  little  hard  at  first.  ” 

“Of  course  I  must  go,”  said  John.  ‘  Don’t  fret,  dear,  I 
shall  be  back  in  five  days.  Those  four  horses  can  go  sixty 
miles  a  day  for  that  time,  and  more.  They  are  fat  as  but¬ 
ter,  and  there  is  lots  of  grass  along  the  road  if  I  can’t  get 
forage  for  them.  Besides,  the  cart  will  be  nearly  empty, 
so  1  can  carry  a  rauid  of  mealies  and  fifty  bundles  of  forage 
with  me.  I  will  take  that  Zulu  boy,  Mouti  [medicine], 
v/ith  me.  He  does  not  know  much  about  horses,  but  he  is 
a  pluck}'  fellow  and  would  stick  by  one  at  a  pinch.  One 
can’t  rely  on  Jantje;  he  is  always  sneaking  off  somewhere, 
and  would  be  sure  to  get  drunk  just  as  one  wanted  him,” 

“Yes,  yes,  John;  that’s  right,  that’s  right,”  said  the 
old  man.  “  I  will  go  and  see  about  having  the  horses  got 
up  and  the  wheels  greased.  V^Jiere  is  the  castor-oil,  Bes¬ 
sie?  There  is  nothing  like  castor-oil  for  these  patent 
axles.  You  ought  to  be  off  in  a,n  hour.  Y^ou  had  better 
sleep  at  Luck’s  to-night;  you  might  get  farther,  but  Luck’s 
is  a  good  place  to  stop,  and  they  will  look  after  you  well 
there,  and  you  can  be  off  by  tinee  in  the  morning  and  be 
at  Heidelberg  by  ten  o’clock  to-morrow  night,  and  in  Pre¬ 
toria  ’oy  the  next  afternoon,  and  he  bustled  off  to  make  the 
necessary  preparations. 

“  Oh,  John,”  Said  Bessie,  beginning  to  cry,  “  I  don’t  like 
your  going  at  all  among  all  those  wild  Boers.  You  are  an 
English  officer,,  and  if  they  find  you  out  they  will  shoot 
you.  You  don’t  know  what  brutes  some  of  them  are  when 
they  think  it  safe  to  be  so.  Oh,  John,  John,  I  can’t  bear 
your  going!” 

“Cheer  up,  my  dear,”  said  John,  “and  for  Heaven’s 
sake  stop  crying,  for  I  can’t  bear  it.  1  must  go.  Y'our 
uncle  would  never  forgive  me  if  I  didn’t,  and,  what  is 
more,  I  should  never  forgive  myself.  There  is  nobody  else 
to  go,  and  we  can’t  leave  Jess  to  be  shut  up  there  in  Pre 
toria— for  months  perhaps.  As  for  the  risk,  of  course 
there  is  a  bit  of  a  risk,  but  I  must  take  it.  I  am  not  r  lraid 
of  risks — at  least  J  used  not  to  be,  but  you  have  ma<lc  a  bit 


JESS. 


96 

of  a  covrard  of  me,  Bessie  dear.  There,  give  me  a  kiss,  old 
girl,  and  come  and  help  me  to  pack  my  things.  Please 
God,  1  shall  get  back  all  right,  and  Jess  vv^ith  me,  in  a 
week  from  now.’' 

AVhoi'eon  Bessie,  being  a  sensible  and  eminently  practi¬ 
cal  young  woman,  dried  her  tears,  and  with  a  cheerful  face, 
albeit  her  heart  v^as  heavy  enough,  set  to  work  with  a  will 
to  make  every  preparation  she  could  ihink  of.  The  few 
clothes  John  was  going  to  take  Avith  him  were  packed  in  a 
Gladstone  bag,  and  the  box  that  was  arranged  underneath 
the  movable  seat  in  the  Cape  cart  was  filled  with  the  tinned 
provisions  that  are  so  much  used  in  South  Africa,  and  all 
the  other  little  arrangements,  small  in  themselves,  but  of 
such  infinite  importance  to  the  traveler  in  a  wild  country, 
were  duly  attended  to  by  her  careful  hands.  Then  came  a 
hurried  meal,  and  before  it  was  swallowed  the  cart  was  at 
the  door,  with  Jantje  hanging  as  usual  on  to  the  heads  of 
the  two  front  horses,  and  the  stalwart  Zulu,  or  rather 
Swazi  boy,  Mouti,  Avhose  sole  luggage  appeared  to  consist 
of  a  bundle  of  assegais  and  sticks  Avrapped  up  in  a  grass 
mat,  and  who,  hot  as  it  was,  was  enveloped  in  a  vast  milh 
tary  greatcoat,  lounging  placidly  alongside. 

“Good-bye,  John,  dear  John,”  said  Bessie,  kissing  him 
again  and  again,  and  striving  to  keep  back  the  tears  that, 
do  what  she  could,  would  gather  in  her  blue  eyes.  “  Good¬ 
bye,  my  love.  ’  ’ 

“God  bless  you,  dearest,”  he  said,  simply,  kissmg  her  in 
answer;  “  good-bye.  Mr.  Croft,  I  hope  to  see  you  again  in 
a  Aveek,  ”  and  he  Avas  in  the  cart  and  had  gathei'ed  up  the 
long  and  intricate-looking  reins.  Jantje  let  go  the  horses’ 
heads  and  gave  a  whoop.  Mouti,  giving  up  star-gazing, 
suddenly  became  an  animated  being  and  scrambled  into 
the  cart  with  surpi-ising  alacrity ;  the  horses  sprung  for- 
v/ard  at  a  hand-gallop,  and  Avere  soon  hidden  from  Bessie’s 
dim  sight  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Poor  Bessie !  it  was  a  hard 
trial,  and  now  that  John  had  gone  and  her  tears  could  not 
distress  him,  she  went  into  her  room  and  gave  way  to  them 
freely  enough. 

John  reached  Luck’s,  an  establishment  on  the  Pretoria 
road  that  happily  combined  the  characteristics  of  an  inn,  a 
shop,  and  a  farmhouse,  such  as  are  to  be  met  with  in 
spai’sely  populated  countries.  It  AAms  not  an  inn  and  not  a 
farmhouse,  strictly  speaking,  nor  Avas  it  altogether  a  shoj), 
though  there  was  a  ‘  store  ’  attached.  If  the  traveler  was 
anxious  to  obtain  accommodation  for  man  and  beast  at  a 
;)lace  of  this  stamp,  he  has  to  proceed  Avarily,  so  to  speak, 
est  he  should  be  requested  to  moA'e  on.  He  must  advance, 
lat  in  hand,  and  ask  to  be  taken  in  as  a  faA  or,  as  many  a 
iigh-h;nided  traveler,  accustomed  to  the  o'yequious  attexi- 


9P 


JESS. 


tions  of  ‘  mine  host,  ’  has  learnt  to  his  cost.  There  is  no 
such  dreadful  autocrat  as  your  half-and-half  innkeei'.er  in 
South  Africa,  and  then  he  is  so  completely  master  of  the 

situation.  “If  you  don’t  like  it,  go  and  be  d - d  to  you,” 

18  his  simple  answer  to  the  remonstrances  of  the  infuriated 
voyager.  And  then  you  must  either  knock  under  and 
look  as  though  you  liked  it,  or  trek  on  into  the  ‘  un- 
hosteled  ’  wilderness.  On  this  occasion,  however,  John 
fared  well  enough.  To  begin  with,  he  knoAv  the  owners  of 
this  place,  who  were  very  civil  people  if  approached  in  a 
humble  spirit,  and,  furthermore,  he  found  everybody  in 
such  a  state  of  unpleasureable  excitement  that  they  were 
only  too  glad  to  get  another  Englishman  to  talk  matters 
over  with.  Not  that  their  information  amounted  to  much, 
however.  There  was  a  l  umor  of  the  Bronker’s  Spruit  dis' 
aster  and  other  rumors  of  the  investment  of  Pretoria,  and 
of  the  advance  of  large  bodies  of  Boers  to  take  possession 
of  the  pass  over  the  Drakensberg,  known  as  Laing’s  Nek, 
but  there  was  no  definite  intelligence. 

“You  won’t  get  into  Pretoria,”  said  one  melancholy 
man,  “so  it’s  no  use  trying.  The  Boers  will  just  catch 
you  and  kill  you,  and  there  will  be  an  end  of  it.  You  had 
better  leave  the  girl  to  look  after  herself  and  go  back  to 
Mooifontein.” 

But  this  was  not  John  s  view  of  the  matter.  “Well,” 
he  said,  “  at  any  rate  I’ll  have  a  try.”  Indeed,  he  had  a 
sort  of  bulldog-sentiment  about  him  that  led  him  to  believe 
that,  if  he  made  up  his  mind  to  do  a  thing,  he  would  do  it 
somehow,  unless  he  should  be  physically  incapacitated  by 
circumstances  beyond  his  own  control.  It  is  wonderful 
how  far  a  mood  of  this  sort  will  take  a  man.  Indeed,  it  is 
the  widespread  possession  of  this  sentiment  that  has  made 
England  what  she  is.  Now  it  is  beginning  to  die  down  and 
be  legislated  out  of  our  national  character,  and  the  results 
are  already  commencing  to  appear  in  the  incipient  decay 
of  our  power.  We  cannot  govern  Ireland.  It  is  beyond 
us;  let  Ireland  have  Home  Eule!  We  cannot  cope  with 
our  imperial  responsibilities;  let  them  be  cast  off;  and  so 
on.  The  Englishmen  of  fifty  years  ago  did  not  talk  like 
this.  Well,  every  nation  becomes  emasculated  sooner  or 
later,  that  seems  to  be  the  universal  fate ;  and  it  appears 
that  it  is  our  lot  to  be  emasculated,  not  by  the  want  of  law, 
but  by  a  plethora  of  it.  This  country  was  made,  not  by 
governments,  but  mostly  in  despite  of  them  by  the  inde¬ 
pendent  efforts  of  a  series  of  individuals.  The  tendency 
nowadays  is  to  merge  the  individual  in  the  government,  and 
to  limit  and  even  forcibly  destroy  personal  enterprise  and  re¬ 
sponsibility.  Everything  is  to  be  legislated  for  or  legislated 
Bgainsk  The  system  is  only  in  its  bud  as  yet.  When  ii 


JESS. 


y? 

blooms  the  empire  will  lose  touch  of  its  individim!  aiomg 
and  become  a  vast  soulless  machine,  which  will  first  get 
out  of  order,  then  break  down,  and,  last  of  all,  break  up. 
We  owe  more  to  sturdy,  determined,  unconvinceable  En¬ 
glishmen  like  John  Niel  thaji  wo  realize,  or,  perhaps, 
should  be  willing  to  acknowledge  in  these  enligiitened 
days.  “Long  live  the  caucus!'’  that  is  the  cry  of  the  nine¬ 
teenth  century.  But  what  will  Englishmen  cry  in  the 
twentieth? 

John  was  off  again  on  his  perilous  journey  more  than  an 
hour  before  dawn  on  the  following  morning.  ,  Nobody  v/a.s 
up  at  the  place,  and  as  it  Avas  practically  impossible  to 
arouse  the  slumbering  Kafirs  from  the  vai-ious  holes  and 
corners  where  they  were  taking  their  rest — for  a  Kafir 
hates  the  cold  of  the  dawning— Mouti  and  ho  had  to  har¬ 
ness  the  horses  and  get  them  inspanned  without  assist¬ 
ance,  and  an  awkward  job  it  was  in  the  dark.  At  last, 
however,  everything  was  ready,  and,  as  the  bill  had  been 
paid  overnight,  thei'e  was  nothing  to  wait  for,  so  they 
clambered  into  the  cart  and  made  a  start.  Before  they 
had  proceeded  forty  yards,  however,  John  heard  a  Amice 
calling  to  him  to  stop.  He  did  so,  and  presently,  holding 
a  lighted  candle  which  biu-nt  without  a  flicker  in  the  still 
damp  air,  and  draped  from  head  to  foot  in  a  dingy -looking 
blanket,  appeared  the  male  Cassandra  of  the  preAdous 
evening. 

He  advanced  slowly  and  Avith  dignity,  as  became  a 
prophet,  and  at  length  reached  the  side  of  the  cart,  ay  hero 
the  sight  of  his  illuminated  figure  and  the  dingy  blanket 
over  his  head  nearly  made  the  horses  run  aAvay. 

“  What  is  it?”  said  John  testily,  for  he  Avas  in  no  mood 
for  delay. 

”  I  thought  I’d  just  get  up  to  tell  you,”  replied  the  draped 
form,  ”  that  I  Avas  quite  sure  that  1  am  right,  and  that  the 
Boers  will  shoot  you.  I  should  not  like  you  to  say  afterward 
that  I  have  not  warned  you,”  and  he  held  up  the  candle 
so  that  the  light  fell  on  John’s  face,  and  gazed  at  it  in  fond 
faroAvell. 

”  Curse  it  all,”  said  John  in  a  fury,  “  if  that  Avas  all  you 
had  to  say  you  might  haAm  kept  in  bed,”  and  he  brought 
doAvn  his  lash  on  the  Avheelers  and  aAvay  they  went  with  a 
bound,  putting  out  the  prophet’s  caudle  and  nearly  knock¬ 
ing  the  prophet  himself  backward  into  the  sluit. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  ROUGH  JOURNEY. 

i^HE  four  grays  were  fresh  hoi’ses,  in  good  condition  and 
•^ith  a  light  load  behind  them,  so,  iiotAyithsdaiading  the  bad 


Bb 


JESS. 


Condition  of  the  tracks  which  they  call  roads  in  Soutl 
Africa,  John  made  good  progress. 

By  ele'^-'en  o’clock  that  day  ho  had  reached  Standertoii^ 
a  little  <iovni  upon  the  Vaal,  not  far  from  which  he 
Tv  as  destined,  had,  he  hut  known  it,  to  meet  with  a  suffi¬ 
ciently  striking  experience.  Here  he  obtained  confirma¬ 
tion  O']  <he  Bronker’s  Spruit  disaster,  and  listened  with  set 
face  and  blaziiig  eyes  to  the  tale  of  treachery  and  whole¬ 
sale  massacre  which  was,  as  he  said,  wnthout  a  parallel  in 
the  annals  of  civilized  war.  But,  after  all,  what  does  it 
matter? — a  little  square  of  neglected  *  graves  at  Bronker’s 
Bpruit,  a  few  more  widows,  and  a  hundred  or  so  of 
orphans.  England,  by  her  government,  answered  the 
question  plainly— it  matters  very  little. 

At  Standerton  John  was  again  warned  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  him  to  make  his  v/ay  through  the  Boers  at 
Heidelberg,  a  town  about  sixty  miles  from  Pretoria,  where 
the  Triumvirate,  Kruger,  Pretorius,  and  Joubert,  had  pro¬ 
claimed  the  Eepublic.  But  he  answered  as  before,  that  he 
must  go  on  till  he  was  stopped,  and  inspanning  his  horses 
sot  forward  again,  a  little  comforted  by  the  news  that  the 
Bishop  of  Pretoria,  who  was  hurrying  up  to  rejoin  his 
family,  had  passed  through  a  few  hours  before,  also  intent 
upon  running  the  blockade,  and  that  if  he  drove  fast  he 
might  overtake  him. 

On  he  went,  hour  after  hour,  over  the  great  deserted 
plain,  but  he  did  not  succeed  in  catching  up  the  bishop. 
About  forty  miles  from  Standerton  he  saw  a  wagon  stand¬ 
ing  by  the  roadside,  and  halted  to  see  if  he  could  get  any 
information  from  its  driver.  But  on  investigation  it  be¬ 
came  clear  that  the  waggon  had  been  looted  of  the  pro¬ 
visions  and  goods  with  Avhich  it  Avas  loaded  and  the  oxen 
driven  off.  Nor  was  this  the  only  evidence  of  violence. 
Across  the  disselboom  of  the  wagon,  the  hand  still  clasping 
a  long  bamboo  whip,  as  though  he  had  been  trying  to  de¬ 
fend  himself  with  it,  lay  the  dead  body  of  the  native 
driver.  His  face,  John  noticed,  was  so  composed  and 
peaceful,  that  had  it  not  been  for  the  attitude  and  a  neat 
little  blue  hole  in  the  forehead,  you  might  have  thought  he 
was  asleep  and  not  dead. 

At  sunset  John  outspannea  his  noAv  flagging  horses  by 
the  roadside,  and  gave  them  each  a  couple  of  bundles  of 
forage  from  the  store  that  he  had  brought  with  him. 
Whilst  they  were  eating  it,  lea  v  ing  Mouti  to  keep  an  eye 

*  This  Avord  is  used  advisedly.  About  a  year  ago  a  geutlemau,  Avhose 
home  is  in  the  Transvaal,  wrote  to  ask  me  to  call  public  attention  to  the 
condition  of  the  graves  of  those  who  fell  at  Bronker’s  Spruit,  v-iiich  he 
described  as  shocking.  1  am  not  aware,  however,  if  anythij;g  t.  .  ince 
i)e,en  done  to  ag^end  thlg^gtote  of  things.— Author.  i 


JESS. 


99 


to  t  fi.  ii>,  he  ■went  some  way  ofT  and  sat  down  on  a  big  ant- 
heap  to  think.  It  was  a  wild  and  melancholy  scene  that 
stretched  away  before  and  behind  him.  3Iiles  upon  miles 
of  plain,  rolling  east  and  west  and  north  and  south,  like 
the  billows  of  a  frozen  sea,  only  broken,  far  along  tlie 
Heidelberg  road,  by  some  hills,  known  as  Rooi  Koppies. 
Nor  was  this  all.  Overhead  was  blazing  and  burning  one 
of  those  remarkable  sunsets  which  one  sometimes  sees  in 
summer  in  Africa.  The  sky  was  full  of  lowering  clouds, 
and  the  sullen  orb  of  the  setting  sun  had  stained  them  per¬ 
fectly  blood-red.  Blood-red  they  floated  through  the 
ominous  sky,  and  blood-red  their  shadows  lay  upon  tlie 
grass.  Even  the  air  seemed  red.  It  looked  as  though 
earth  and  heaven  had  been  steeped  in  blood ;  and,  fresh  as 
John  was  from  the  sight  of  the  dead  driver,  his  ears  yet 
tingling  with  the  tale  of  Bronker’§  Spruit,  it  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  the  suggestive  sight  oppressed  him, 
seated  in  that  lonely  waste,  with  no  company  except  the 
melancholy  "  kakara-kakara  ”  of  an  old  black  koran  hid¬ 
den  away  somewhere  in  the  grass.  He  was  not  much 
given  to  that  sort  of  thing,  but  he  did  begin  to  wonder 
whether  this  was  the  last  journey  of  all  the  many  he 
had  made  during  the  past  twenty  years,  and  if  a  Boer 
bullet  was  about  to  solve  the  mystery  of  life  and  death  for 
him. 

And  then  he  got  to  the  stage  of  depression  that  m.ost  peo¬ 
ple  have  made  acquaintance  with  at  one  time  or  another, 
when  one  begins  to  ask,  “What  is  the  use  of  it?  Why 
were  we  born?  What  good  do  we  do  here?  Why  should 
we  be  (as  the  majority  of  mankind  doubtless  are)  mere  ani¬ 
mals  laden  up  with  sorrows  till  at  last  our  poor  backs 
break?  Is  God  powerful  or  powerless?  If  powerful,  why 
did  he  not  let  us  sleep  in  peace,  without  setting  us  here  to 
taste  of  every  pain  and  mortification,  to  become  acquainted 
with  every  grief,  and  then  to  perish  miserably?’’  Old 
questions  these,  which  the  cheerful  critic  justly  condemns 
as  morbid  and  futile,  and  not  to  be  dangled  before  a  merry 
world  of  make  believe.  And  perhaps  they  are  right.  It  is 
better  to  play  at  marbles  on  a  sepulcher  than  to  lift  the 
lid  and  peep  inside.  But,  for  all  that,  they  will  arise  when 
we  sit  alone  at  even  in  our  individual  wildernesses,  sur¬ 


rounded,  perhaps,  by  mementos  of  our  broken  hopes  and 
tokens  of  our  beloved  dead,  strewn  about  us  like  the 
bleaching  bones  of  the  wild  game  on  the  veldt,  and  in  spirit 
watch  the  red  sun  of  our  existence  sinking  toward  the 
vapory  horizon.  They  will  come  even  to  the  sanguine,  suc¬ 
cessful  man.  One  cannot  always  play  at  marbles;  the  lid 
of  iU7  .sepulcher  will  sometimes  slip  aside  of  itself,  and  'we 
help  seeing.  Of  course,  hov\_,„„' .  ■'  depends  upon 


100 


JESS. 


the  disposition.  Some  people  can,  metaphorically,  smoke 
cigarettes  and  make  puns  by  the  deathbeds  of  their  dearest 
friends,  or  even  on  their  own.  One  should  pray  for  a  dis-_ 
position  like  that — it  makes  the  world  so  much  pleasanter. 

By  the  time  that  the  hoi’ses  had  done  their  forage  and 
Mouti  had  forced  the  bits  into  their  reluctant  mouths,  the 
angry  splendor  of  the  sunset  had  faded,  and  the  quiet 
night  was  falling  over  the  glowing  veldt  like  a  pall  on  one 
scarce  dead.  There  was,  fortunately  for  the  travelers,  a 
bright  half  moon,  and  by  its  light  John  managed  to  direct 
the  cart  over  man}'  a  weary  mile.  On  he  went  for  hour 
after  hoar,  keeping  his  tired  horses  to  the  collar  as  best  he 
could,  till  at  last,  about  eleven  o’clock,  he  saw  the  lights  of 
Heidelberg  before  him,  and  knew  that  the  question  of 
whether  or  no  his  journey  was  at  an  end  would  speedily  be 
decided  for  him.  However,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  go  on  and  take  his  chance  of  slipping  through.  Pres¬ 
ently  he  crossed  a  little  stream,  and  made  out  the  shape  of 
a  cart  just  ahead,  around  which  men  and  a  couple  of  lan¬ 
terns  were  moving.  No  doubt,  he  thought  to  himself,  it 
was  the  bishop,  who  had  been  stopped  by  the  Boers.  He 
was  quite  close  to  the  cart  when  it  moved  on,  and  in  an¬ 
other  second  he  was  greeted  by  the  rough  challenge  of  a 
sentry,  and  caught  sight  of  the  cold  gleam  of  a  rifle  barrel. 

“Wieda?”  ]  Who’s  there?] 

“Friend!”  he  answered  cheerfully,  though  feeling  far 
from  cheerful. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  the  sentry  called  to  an¬ 
other  man,  who  came  up  yawning,  and  saying  something 
in  Dutch.  Straining  his  ears  he  caught  the  words,  “  Bish¬ 
op’s  man,”  and  this  gave  him  an  idea. 

“Who  are  you,  Englishman?”  asked  the  second  man 
gruffly,  holding  up  a  lantern  to  look  at  John,  and  speaking 
in  English. 

“I  an\  the  bishop’s  chaplain,  sir,”  he  answered  mildly, 
trying  desperately  to  look  like  an  unoffending  clergyman, 
“and  I  want  to  get  on  to  Pretoria  with  him.” 

The  man  with  the  lantern  inspected  him  closely.  Fort¬ 
unately  he  had  on  a  dark  coat  and  a  clerical -looking  black 
felt  hat;  the  same  that  Frank  Muller  had  put  a  bullet 
through. 

“  He  is  a  preacher  fast  enough,”  said  the  one  man  to  the 
other.  “  Look,  he  is  dressed  like  an  old  crow!  What  did 
‘Om’  Kruger’s  pass  say,  Jan?  Was  it  two  carts  or  one 
Po.at  we  were  to  let  through?  I  think  that  it  was  one.” 

The  other  man  scratched  his  head : 

‘  ‘  I  think  it  was  two, '  ’  he  said.  He  did  not  like  to  con¬ 
fess  to  his  comrade  that  he  could  not  read.  “No,  I  am 
Bure  that  it.wgg  two.  ’* 


JESS. 


iOl 

“Perhaps  we  had  better  send  up  to  Om  Kruger  and 
ask?”  suggested  the  first  man. 

“Om  Kruger  will  be  in  bed,  and  he  puts  up  his  quills  like 
a  porcupine  if  one  wakes  him,”  was  the  answer. 

■  ‘  Then  let  us  keep  the  damned  preaching  Englishman  till 
to-morrow.” 

“Pi*ay  let  me  go  on.  gentlemen,”  said  John,  still  in  his 
mildest  voice.  “I  am  wanted  to  preach  the  word  at  Pre¬ 
toria,  and  to  watch  by  the  wounded  and  dying.” 

“Yes,  yes,”  said  the  first  man,  “there  will  soon  be 
plenty  of  wounded  and  dying  there.  They  will  all  be  like 
the  rooibaatjes  at  Bronker’s  Spruit.  Lord,  what  a  sight 
that  was!  But,  they  will  get  the  bishop,  so  they  won’t 
Want  you.  You  can  stop  and  look  after  our  wounded,  if 
the  rooibaatjes  manage  to  hit  any  of  us.”  And  he  beck¬ 
oned  to  him  to  come  out  of  the  cart. 

“Hullo!”  said  the  other  man,  “here  is  a  bag  of  mealies. 
We  Avill  commandeer  that,  anyhow.”  And  he  took  his 
knife  and  cut  the  line  with  which  the  sack  was  fastened  to 
the  back  of  the  cart,  so  that  it  fell  to  the  ground.  “  That 
will  feed  our  horses  for  a  week,”  he  said  with  a  chuckle,  in 
which  the  other  man  joined.  It  w^as  pleasant  to  become  so 
easily  possessed  of  an  unearned  increment  in  the  shape  of 
a  bag  of  mealies. 

“Well,  are  we  to  let  the  old  crow  go?”  said  the  first 
man. 

“Ifw’e  don’t  let  him  go  we  shall  have  to  take  him  up 
to  headquarters,  tind  I  want  to  go  to  sleep.”  And  he 
yawned. 

“  Well,  let  him  go,”  ansAvered  the  other.  “  I  think  you 
are  right.  The  pass  said  two  carts.  Be  off,  you  damned 
'.•caching  Englishman!” 

John  did  not  wait  for  any  more,  but  laid  the  whip  across 
'jhe  horses’  backs  Avith  a  Avill. 

“  I  hope  we  did  idght,”  said  the  man  with  the  lantern  to 
the  other  as  the  cart  bumped  off.  “  I  am  not  sure  he  Avas 
a  parson  after  all.  I  have  half  a  mind  to  send  a  bullet 
after  him.”  But  his  companion,  Avho  was  very  sleepy, 
gave  no  encouragement  to  the  idea,  so  it  dropped. 

On  the  following  morning,  when  Commandant  Frank 
Muller — having  heard  that  his  enemy  John  Niel  Avason  his 
way  up  Avith  the  Cape  cart  and  four  gray  horses— ascer¬ 
tained  that  a  vehicle  ansAvering  to  that  description  hf'^d 
been  allowed  to  pass  through  Heidelberg  in  the  dead  of 
night,  his  state  of  mind  may  better  be  imagined  than  de- 

;  cribed.  ,  ,  .  ,  v 

As  for  the  two  sentries,  he  had  them  tried  by  court- 

artial  and  set  them  to  make  fortifications  for  the  rest  ot 
:;rx3  rebellion.  They ^an  neither  of  them  now  hear  the 


103 


JESS. 


name  of  a  clergyman  mentioned  without  breaking  out  into 
a  perfect  flood  of  blasphemy. 

Luckily  for  John,  although  he  had  been  delayed  for  five 
minutes  or  moi’e,  he  managed  to  overtake  the  cart  in  which 
he  presumed  the  bishop  was  ensconced.  His  lordship  hoxl 
been  providentially  delayed  by  the  breaking  of  a  trace; 
otherwise,  it  is  clear  that  his  self-nominated  chaplain 
would  never  liave  got  through  the  steep  streets  of  Heidel¬ 
berg  that  night.  The  whole  town  was  choked  up  with  Boer 
wagons,  full  now  of  sleeping  Boers.  Over  one  batch  of 
wagons  and  tents  John  made  out  the  Transvaal  flag  flutter¬ 
ing  idly  in  the  night  breeze,  and  emblazoned  with  the  ap¬ 
propriate  emblem  of  an  ox-wagon  and  an  armed  Boer, 
marking,  no  doubt,  the  headquarters  of  the  triumvirate. 
Once  the  cart  ahead  of  him  was  stopped  by  a  sentry,  and 
some  conversation  ensued.  Then  it  went  on  again ;  and  so 
did  John,  unmolested.  It  was  weary  work,  that  journey 
through  Heidelberg,  and  full  of  terrors  for  John,  who 
every  moment  expected  to  be  stopped  and  dragged  off  ig- 
norainiously  to  the  gaol.  The  hoi’ses,  too,  were  dead  beat, 
and  made  frantic  attempts  to  turn  and  stop  at  every 
house.  But,  somehow,  they  got  through  the  little  place., 
and  then  were  stopped  once  more.  Again  the  first  cart  got 
on  ahead,  but  this  time  John  was  not  so  lucky, 

“  The  pass  said  one  cart,”  said  a  voice 

”  Yah,  yah,  one  cart,”  answered  another. 

John  again  put  on  his  clerical  air  and  told  his  artless  tale ; 
but  neither  of  the  men  could  understand  English,  so  they 
went  to  a  wagon  that  Avas  standing  about  fifty  yards  away, 
to  fetch  somebody  who  could. 

‘  Now,  Inkoos,”  whispered  the  Zulu  Mouti,  “drive  on, 
drive  on!” 

John  took  the  hint,  and  lashed  the  horses  with  his  long 
whip;  while  Mouti,  bending  forward  over  the  splash¬ 
board,  thrashed  the  wheelers  with  a  sjambock.  Off  went 
the  team  in  a  spasmodic  gallop,  and  had  covered  a  hun¬ 
dred  yards  of  ground  before  the  two  sentries  realized 
what  had  happened.  Then  they  began  to  run  after  the 
cart  shouting,  but  were  soon  lost  in  the  darkness. 

Johfi  and  Mouti  did  not  spare  the  whip,  but  pressed  on 
up  the  stony  hills  on  the  Pretoria  side  of  Heidelberg  with¬ 
out  a  halt.  They  were,  however,  unable  to  keep  up  with 
the  ea.rt  ahead  of  them,  which  was  evidently  more  freshly 
horsed.  About  miei night,  too,  tlio  moon  vanished  alto- 
gcMu'r,  a!)d  they  bad  to  creep  on  as  best  they  could 
thi'oogh  t  he  darkness.  Indeed,  so  dark  was  it,  that  Mouti 
Avas  <-'b!k’:nd  To  .get  out  and  lend  the  exhnu'-^ted  horses,  one 
of  '.nd;  v- o:h  1  now  end  rigsin  fall  diov:'  ru'd  have  to  bo 


JESS.  '  im 

very  nearly  upset;  and  on  another  occasion  was  within  an 
inch  or  two  of  rolling  down  a  precipice. 

This  went  on  till  two  in  tlie  morning,  wdion  John  fonnd 
that  it  v/as  impossible  to  get  the  wearied  beasts  a  yard  fur¬ 
ther.  So,  having  luckihv  come  to  some  water  about  fifteen 
miles  out  of  Heidelberg,  he  halted,  and,  having  let  the 
horses  drink,  gave  them  as  much  forage  as  they  could  eat. 
<Dne  lay  down  at  once,  and  refused  to  touch  anything — a 
sure  sign  of  great  exhaustion;  another  ate  lying  down:  but 
the  other  twm  filled  themselves  in  a  satisfactory  way. 
Then  came  a  weary  wait  for  the  dawn.  Mouti  slept  a  little, 
but  John  did  not  dare  to  do  so.  All  he  could  do  was  to  eat 
a  little  “  biltong  ”  (dried  game  flesh)  and  bread,  drink  some 
squareface  and  v/ater,  and  then  sit  do\vn  in  the  cart,  his 
rifle  between  his  knees,  and  v/ait  for  the  light.  At  last  it 
came,  lying  on  the  Eastern  sky  like  a  promise,  and  he  once 
more  fed  the  horses.  And  now  a  new  difficulty  arose.  The 
animal  that  wmuld  not  eat  was  clearly  too  weak  to  pull,  so 
the  harness  had  to  be  altered,  and  the  three  sound  animals 
harnessed  unicorn-fashion,  while  the  sick  one  was  fastened 
to  the  rear  of  the  cart.  Then  tliey  got  off  again. 

By  eleven  o’clock  they  reached  an  hotel,  or  wayside 
house,  known  aS  Ferguson’s,  and  situate  about  twenty 
miles  from  Pretoria.  It  was  empty,  except  for  a  couple  of 
eats  and  a  stray  dog.  The  inhabitants  had  ev'ideotly  fled 
from  the  Boers.  Here  John  stabled  and  fed  his  lioi’ses, 
giving  them  all  that  remained  of  the  forage;  and  then, 
once  more,  started  on  for  the  last  stage.  The  rofid  was 
dreadful;  and  he  knew  that  the  country  must  be  full  of  hos¬ 
tile  Boers,  but  fortunately  he  met  none.  It  took  hiin  four 
hours  to  get  over  the  twenty  miles  of  ground:  but  it  was 
not  until  he  got  to  the  “Poort,”  or  neck  running  down 
into  Pretoria,  that  he  saw  a  vestige  of  a  Boer.  Then  he 
made  out  two  mounted  men  riding  along  the  top  of  a  pre¬ 
cipitous  stone-strewn  ridge,  some  six  hundred  yards  or  so 
from  him.  At  first  he  thought  that  they  were  going  to  de¬ 
scend  it,  but  pi’esently  they  changed  their  minds  and  got 
off  their  horses. 

While  he  was  still  wondering  what  this. might  portend, 
Jie  saw  a  puff  of  wliite  smoke  floao  up  from  where  liie  men 
were,  and  then  another.  Then  came  the  sharp  uninistak- 
able  “ping”  of  a  bullet  passing,  as  far  as  he  could  judge, 
within  some  three  feet  of  his  head,  followed  by  a.  second 
“  ping,”  and  a  cloud  of  dust  beneath  the  belly  of  tiie  lirst 
horse.  The  two  Boers  were  firing  at  him. 

Ho  did  not  wait  for  any  moi’e  target  pnictice,  out, 
thrashing  the  horses  to  a  canter,  got  the  c;ir6  rt)iuu.i  a  nso^ 
jeciiog  b.i'i.k  bcfoi’e  they  could  load,  and  file  a, ,  ■  -1,0* 

that,  he  no  more  of  them. 


104 


JESS. 


At  last  he  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Poort,  and  saw  the 
prettiest  of  the  South  African  towns,  with  its  red  and 
white  houses,  its  tall  clumps  of  trees,  and  pink  lines  of 
blooming  rose  hedges  lying  on  the  plain  before  him,  all  set 
in  the  green  veldt,  and  made  beautiful  by  the  golden  ligiifc 
of  the  afternoon,  and  thanked  God  for  the  sight.  He  knew 
that  he  'was  safe  now,  and  let  his  tired  horses  walk  slowly  i 
down  the  hillside  and  across  the  bit  of  plain  beyond.  To 
his  left  were  the  jail  and  the  barrack- sheds,  and  gathered 
about  them  were  hundreds  of  wagons  and  tents,  toward 
which  he  drove.  Evidently  the  town  was  deserted  and  its 
inhabitants  in  laager.  When  he  got  within  half  a  mile  or 
so,  a  picket  of  mounted  men  came  riding  toward  him,  fol¬ 
lowed  by  a  miscellaneous  crowd  on  horseback  and  on 
foot, 

“Who  goes  there?”  shouted  a  voice  in  honest  English. 

“  A  friend  who  is  uncomnionly  glad  to  see  you,”  he  an¬ 
swered,  with  that  feeble  jocosity  we  are  all  apt  to  indulge 
in  when  a  great  weight  is  at  length  lifted  from  our 
aerves. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


PRETOPJA. 

Jess  did  not  have  a  very  happy  time  of  it  at  Pretoria 
orevious  to  the  outbreak  of  hostilities.  Most  people  who 
have  made  a  great  moral  effort,  and  after  a  severe  mental 
struggle  entered  on  tiie  drear  path  of  self-sacrifice,  have 
experienced  the  reaction  that  will  follow  as  certainly  as 
the  night  follows  the  day.  It  is  one  thing  to  renounce  the 
light,  to  stand  in  the  full  glow  of  the  setting  beams  of  our 
imperial  joy  and  chant  out  our  farewell,  and  quite  another 
to  live  alone  in  the  darkness.  For  a  little  while  memory 
may  support  us.  but  memory  grows  faint.  On  every  side 
is  tiie  thick,  cheerless  pall  and  the  stillness  through  which 
no  sound  comes.  We  are  alone,  quite  alone,  cut  off  from 
the  fellowship  of  the  day,  unseeing  and  unseen.  More  es¬ 
pecially  is  this  so  when  our  dungeon  is  of  our  own  making, 
and  we  ourselves  have  shot  its  bolts.  There  is  a  naturm 
night  that  comes  to  all,  and  in  its  unwavering  course  swal¬ 
lows  every  hope  and  fear,  forever  and  forever.  To  this  wa 
can  more  easily  resign  ourselves,  for  we  recognize  the  uni¬ 
versal  lot  and  bow  ourselves  beneatli  the  all-effacing  hand. 
The  earth  does  not  pine  when  the  daylight  passes  from  its 
peaks ;  it  only  sleeps. 

But  Jess  had  buried  herself,  and  she  knew  it.  There  was 
no  absolute  need  for  her  to  have  resigned  her  affection  to 
her  sister’s:  she  had  done  so  oi  her  own  will,  and  at  times 


JESS. 


■  1*  :;3V - . 


105 


faced  angel.  If  only  we  hold  him  fast  and  wrestle  with 
him  long  enough,  he  will  speak  us  soft  words  of  happy- 
sound.  just  as,  if  we  wait  long  enough  in  the  darkness  of 
the  night,  stars  will  come  to  share  our  loneliness.  Still 
this  is  one  of  those  things  that  time  hides  from  us  and  only 
reveals  at  his  own  pleasure;  and,  so  far  as  Jess  Avas  con- 
‘eriied,  his  pleasure  was  not  yet.  Outwardly,  however, 
she  showed  no  sign  of  her  distress  and  of  the  passion  which 
was  eating  at  her  heart.  She  was  pale  and  silent,  it  is  true, 
but  then  she  had  always  been  remarkable  for  her  pallor 
and  silence.  Only  she  gave  up  her  singing. 

And  so  the  Aveeks  Avent  on,  drearily  enough  for  the  poor 
girl,  who  was  doing  Avhat  other  people  did — eating  and 
drinking,  riding,  and  going  to  parties  like  the  rest  of  the 
Pretoria  world,  till  at  last  she  began  to  think  that  she  had 
better  be  going  home  again,  lest  she  should  Avear  out  her 
welcome.  And  yet  she  dreaded  to  do  so,  mindful  of  her 
daily  prayer  to  be  delivered  from  temptation.  As  to  what 
was  going  on  at  Mooifontein  she  Avas  in  almost  complete 
ignorance.  Bessie  Avrote  to  her,  of  course,  and  so  did  her 
uncle  once  or  tAvice,  "but  they  did  not  tell  her  much  of  Avliat 
she  wanted  to  knoAv.  Bessie’s  letters  Avere,  it  is  true,  full 
of  allusions  to  what  Captain  Niel  was  doing,  but  she  did 
not  go  beyond  that.  Her  reticence,  however,  told  her 
observant  sister  more  than  her  Avords.  Why  was  she  so 
reticent?  No  doubt  because  things  still  hung  in  the  balance. 
And  then  she  would  think  of  Avhat  it  all  meant  for  her,  and 
now  and  again  give  way  to  an  outburst  of  passionate  jeal¬ 
ousy  which  Avould  have  been  painful  enough  to  Avitness  if 
anybody  could  hav-e  been  there  to  see  it. 

And  so  the  time  Avent  on  toAvmrd  Cliristmas,  for  Jess, 
having  been  warmly  pressed  to  do  so,  had  settled  to  stay 
over  Christmas  and  return  to  t!ie  farm  Avith  the  ncAV  year. 
There  had  been  a  great  deal  of  talk  in  the  town  about  the 
Boers,  but  she  Avas  too  much  preoccupied  Avith  her  own 
affairs  to  pay  much  attention  to  it.  Nor,  indeed,  was  the 
public  mind  greatly  moA-ed ;  they  were  so  much  accustomed 
to  Boer  scares  at  Pretoria,  and  hitherto  they  had  iiiAmriably 
ended  in  smoke.  And  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  on  the 
ing  of  the  eighteenth  of  December,  came  the  news  of  the 
proclamation  of  the  rep>ublic,  and  the  town  -was  throAvn 
into  a  ferment,  and  there  Avas  a  talk  of  going  i^ito  laager, 
and,  anxious  as  she  was  to  get  aAAmy,  Jess  could  see  no 
hope  of  returning  to  the  farm  till  the  excitement  was  OA'er. 
Then,  a  day  or  two  later.  Conductor  Egerton  came  limping 
into  Pretoria  from  the  scene  of  the  disaster  at  Bronker  s 
Spruit  with  the  colors  of  the  94th  Regiment  tied  round  his 
middle,  and  such  a  tale  to  tell  that  the  blood  went  to 


t06 


JESS. 


her  heart  and  seemed  to  stagnate  there  as  slie  listened) 
to  it. 

And  after  that  there  was  confusion  woree  confonrdod. 
Martial  law  was  proclaimed,  and  the  town,  which  w  .es 
large,  straggling,  and  incapable  of  defense,  was  abandoiied, 
the  inhabitants  being  ordered  into  laager  on  the  high, 
ground  overlooking  the  city.  There  they  were,  young  and 
old,  sick  and  well,  delicate  women  and  little  children,  all 
crowded  together  in  the  open  under  the  cover  of  the  fort, 
with  nothing  but  canvas  tents,  wagons,  and  sheds  to-shelter 
them  from  the  fierce  summer  suns  and  rains.  Jees  had  to 
share  a  wagon  with  her  friend  and  her  friend’s  sister  and 
mother,  and  found  it  rather  a  tight  fit  even  to  lie  down. 
Sleep  with  all  the  noises  of  the  camp  going  on  round  her 
was  a  practical  impossibility. 

It  was  about  three  o’clock  on  the  day  following  that  first 
miserable  night  in  the  laager  when,  by  the  last  mail  that 

Eassed  into  Pretoria,  she  got  Bessie’s  letter,  announcing 
er  engagement  to  John.  She  took  her  letter  and  went 
some  way  from  the  camp  to  the  side  of  Signal  Hill,  where 
she  was  not  likely  to  be  disturbed,  aud,  finding  a  nook 
shaded  in  by  mimosa-trees,  sat  down  and  broke  the 
envelope.  Before  she  had  got  to  the  foot  of  the  first  page, 
she  saw  what  was  cOming,  and  set  her  teeth.  Then  she 
read  the  long  lettei’  through  from  beginning  to  end  with¬ 
out  flinching,  though  the  words  of  affection  seemed  to 
burn  her.  So  it  had  come  at  last.  Well,  she  expected  it. 
and  had  plotted  to  bring  it  about,  so  really  there  w^as  no 
reason  in  the  world  why  she  should  feel  disappointed.  On 
the  contrary,  she  ought  to  rejoice,  and  for  a  little  while 
she  u’eally  did  rejoice  in  her  sister’s  happiness.  It  made 
her  happy  to  think  that  Bessie,  wliom  she  dearly  loved, 
was  happy. 

Aud  yet  she  -felt  angry  with  John  with  that  sort  of  anger 
which  we  feel  against  those  who  have  blindly  injured  us. 
Why  should  he  have  it  in  his  power  to  hurt  her  so?  StiU 
she  hoped  that  he  wmuld  be  happy  with  Bessie,  and  then 
she  hoped  that  these  wretched  Boers  would  take  Pretoria, 
and  that  she  would  be  shot  or  put  out  of  the  way  some¬ 
how.  She  had  no  heart  for  life;  all  the  color  had  faded 
from  her  sky.  What  was  she  to  do  with  herself?  Marry 
somebody  and  busy  herself  with  rearing  a  pack  of  chil¬ 
dren?  It  would  be  a  physical^  impossibility  to  her.  No, 
she  would  go  away  to  Europe,  aud  mix  in  the  great 
stream  of  life,  and  struggle  with  it,  aud  see  if  she  could 
win  a  place  for  herself  among  the  people  of  her  day.  She 
b.<ad  it  in  her — she  knew  that ;  and  now  that  she  liad  put 
herself  out  of  the  reach  of  passion  she  would  be  more 
likely  to  succeed,  for  success  is  to  the  impassive,  who  are 


JESS. 


107 


e.lso  the  strong.  She  would  not  f?top  on  the  form  after 
John  and  Bessie  were  married;  she  was  quite  clear  as  to 
that;  nor,  if  she  could  avoid  it,  would  she  return  there  be¬ 
fore  they  v/ere  married.  She  would  see  him  no  more,  no 
more !  Alas,  that  she  had  ever  seen  him ! 

l''eoling  somewhat  happier,  or  at  any  rate  calmer,  in  this 
determination,  she  rose  to  return  to  the  noisy  camp,  ex¬ 
tending  her  walk,  however,  by  making  a  detour  toward  the 
Heidelberg  road,  for  she  was  anxious  to  be  as  long  alone  as 
she  could.  She  had  been  walking  some  ten  minutes  when 
she  caught  sight  of  a  cart  that  seemed  familiar  to  her, 
with  three  horses  harnessed  in  front  of  it  and  one  tied  be¬ 
hind.  which  were  also  familiar.  There  were  a  lot  of  men 
walking  alongside  of  the  cart  all  talking  eageriju  She 
halted  to  let  the  little  procession  go  by,  when  suddenly  she 
perceived  JohnNiel  among  the  men  and  recognized  the  Zulu 
Monti  on  the  box.  There  was  the  man  whom  she  had  just 
vowed  never  to  see  again,  and  the  sight  of  him  seemed  to 
take  all  her  strength  out  of  her,  so  that  she  felt  inclined  to 
sink  involuntarily  upon  the  veldt.  His  sudden  appearance 
was  almost  uncanny  in  the  sharpness  of  its  illustration  of 
her  impotence  in  the  hands  of  Fate.  She  felt  it  then;  all 
in  an  instant  it  seemed  to  be  borne  in  upon  her  mind  that 
she  could  not  help  herself,  but  \vas  only  the  instrumient  in 
the  hands  of  a  superior  power  Avhose  will  she  wms  fulfilling 
through  the  workings  of  her  passion,  and  to  whom  her  in¬ 
dividual  fate  Avas  a  matter  of  little  moment.  It  was  in¬ 
conclusive  reasoning  and  perilous  doctrine,  but  it  must  be 
allowmd  that  the  circumstances  gave  it  the  color  of  truth. 
And,  after  all,  the  border-line  betw^een  fatalism  and  free¬ 
will  has  neimr  been  quite  authoritatively  settled,  even  by 
St.  Paul,  so  pei'haps  she  was  right.  Mankind  does  not  like 
to  admit  it,  but  it  is,  at  the  least,  a  question  wTiether  we 
can  oppose  our  little  ivills  against  the  forces  of  the  uni¬ 
versal  law,  or  derange  the  details  of  tlie  unvarying  plan  to 
suit  the  petty  ivants  and  hopes  of  individual  mortality. 
Jess  Av as  a  clever  woman,  but  it  Avould  take  a  Aviser  head 
than  hers  to  knoAv  Avhere  or  Avhen  to  draAv  that  red  line 
across  the  writings  of  our  life. 

On  came  the  cart  and  the  knot  of  men,  and  t  hen  suddenly 
John  looked  Aip,  and  saAv  her  looking  at  him  Avith  tliose 
dark  eyes,  that  did  indeed  seem  at  times  as  though  they 
were  the  AvindoAvs  of  her  soul.  He  turned  and  said  some¬ 
thing  to  his  companions  and  to  the  Zulu  Mouti,  who  went 
an  Avith  the  cart,  and  then,  came  toAvard  her  smiling  and 
with  outstretched  hand. 

“  Hoav  do  you  do,  Jess?”  he  said.  ”  So  I  haA'e  rouiui  you 
fid  rigid?”  „  .. -,,-v 

She  took  his  hand  and  answered,  almost  angruv.  ■<  =  hy 


106  JESS. 

have  you  come?  Why  did  you  leave  Bessie  and 
uncle?” 

“  I  came  because  I  was  sent,  and  also  because  i  wished 
to.  I  wanted  to  get  you  back  home  before  Pretoria  was 
besieged.” 

‘‘You  must  have  been  mad!  How  could  j'ou  expect 
to  get  back?  We  shall  both  be  shut  up  here  together 
now.  ’  ’ 

‘‘  So  it  appears.  Well,  things  might  be  worse,”  he  added, 
cheerfully. 

‘‘ I  do  not  think  that  anything  could  be  worse,”  she  an¬ 
swered,  with  a  stamp  of  her  foot,  and  then,  quite  thrown 
off  her  balance,  burst  incontinently  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

John  Niel  was  a  very  simple-minded  man,  and  it  never 
struck  him  to  attribute  her  grief  to  any  other  cause  than, 
anxiety  at  the  state  of  affairs  and  at  her  incarceration  for 
an  indefinite  period  in  a  besieged  town  that  ran  the  daily 
risk  of  being  taken  vi  et  armis.  Still,  he  w'as  a  little 
hurt  at  the  manner  of  his  reception,  after  his  long  and 
most  perilous  journey,  which  is  not,  perhaps,  to  be  won¬ 
dered  at. 

‘‘  Well,  Jess,”  he  said,  ‘‘  I  think  that  you  might  speak  a 
little  more  kindly  to  me,  considering— considering  all 
things.  There,  don’t  cry,  they  are  all  right  at  Mooi- 
fontein,  and  I  dare  say  that  we  shall  get  back  there  some¬ 
how  some  time  or  other.  I  had  a  nice  business  to  get  here 
at  all,  I  can  tell  you.” 

She  suddenly  stopped  weeping  and  smiled,  her  tears 
passing  away  like  a  summer  storm.  ‘  ‘  flow  did  you  get 
through?”  she  asked.  ‘‘  Tell  me  all  about  it.  Captain  Niel, 
and  accordingly  he  did. 

She  listened  in  silence  while  he  sketched  the  chief  events 
of  his  journey,  and  when  he  had  done  she  spoke  in  quite  a 
changed  tone. 

‘ ‘  It  is  very  good  and  kind  of  you  to  have  risked  your 
life  like  this  for  me.  Only  I  wonder  that  you  did  not  all 
of  you  see  that  it  would  be  of  no  use.  We  shall  both  be 
shut  up  here  together  now,  that  is  all,  and  that  will  be 
very  sad  for  you  and  Bessie.” 

‘‘Oh.  So  you  have  heard  of  our  engagement?”  he  said. 

'  ‘‘  Yes,  I  got  Bessie’s  letter  about  a  couple  of  hours  ago, 

and  1  congratulate  you  both  very  much.  I  think  that  you 
will  have  the  sweetest  and  loveliest  wife  in  South  Africa, 
Captain  Niel,  and  I  think  that  Bessie  will  have  a  husband 
any  woman  might  be  proud  of;”  and  she  half  bowed  and 
half  courtesied  to  him  as  she  said  it,  with  a  graceful  litLl« 
air  of  dignity  that  was  very  taking. 

‘‘Thank  you,”  he  said  simply;  “yes,  I  think  I  aiu  a 
^ry  lucky  fellow.” 


JESS. 


109 


“  And  now,”  sho  said,  “  we  had  better  go  and  see  about 
the  cart.  You  will  have  to  get  a  stand  for  it  in  that 
wretched  laager.  You  must  be  very  tired  and  hungry;” 
and  they  started. 

A  few  minutes’  walk  brought  them  to  the  cart,  which 
Mouti  had  outspanned  close  to  Mrs.  Neville’s  wagon, 
where  Jess  and  her  friends  were  living,  and  the  first  per¬ 
son  they  saw  was  Mrs.  Neville  herself.  She  was  a  good, 
motherly  colonial  woman,  accustomed  to  a  rough  life,  and 
not  easily  disturbed  by  an  emergency  like  the  present. 

“My  goodness,  Captain  Neil!”  she  cried,  as  soon  as 
Jess  had  introduced  him.  ”  Well,  you  are  plucky  to  have 
forced  your  way  through  all  those  horrid  Boers !  I  am 
sure  I  wonder  that  they  did  not  shoot  you  or  beat  you  to 
death  with  sjambocks,  the  brutes.  Not  that  there  is  much 
use  in  your  coming,  for  you  will  never  be  able  to  get  Jess 
back  till  Sir  George  Colley  relieves  us,  and  that  can’t  be 
for  two  months,  they  say.  Well,  there  is  one  thing; 
Jess  will  be  able  to  sleep  in  the  cart  now,  and  you  can  get 
one  of  the  patrol-tents  and  sleep  alongside.  It  won’t  be 
quite  proper,  perhaps,  but  in  these  times  we  can’t  stop  to 
consider  propriety.  There,  there,  you  go  off  to  the  gov¬ 
ernor.  He  will  be  glad  enough  to  see  you,  I’ll  be  bound. 
I  saw  him  at  the  other  end  of  the  camp,  there,  five  minutes 
ago,  and  we  will  have  the  cart  arranged,  and  see  all 
about  it.” 

Thus  abjured,  John  departed,  and  when  he  returned 
half  an  hour  afterward,  having  told  his  eventful  tale, 
which  did  not,  however,  convey  any  information  of  gen¬ 
eral  value,  he  was  rejoiced  to  find  the  ])rocess  of  ”  getting 
things  straight  ’  ’  was  in  good  progress.  What  was  better 
still,  Jess  had  fried  him  a  beefsteak  over  the  camp-fire, 
and  was  now  employed  in  serving  it  on  a  little  table  by  the 
wagon.  He  sat  down  on  a  camp-stool  and  ate  his  meal 
heartily  enough,  while  Jess  waited  on  him  and  Mrs. 
Neville  chattered  away. 

“By  the  way,”  she  said,  “Jess  tells  me  that  you  are 
going  to  marry  her  sister.  Well,  I  wish  you  joy.  A  man 
wants  a  wife  in  a  country  like  this.  It  ain’t  like  England, 
where  in  five  cases  out  of  six  he  might  as  well  go  and  cut 
his  throat  as  get  married.  It  saves  him  money  here,  and 
children  are  a  blessing,  as  nature  meant  them  to  be,  and 
not  a  burden,  as  civilization  has  made  them.  Lord,  how 
my  tongue  does  run  on!  It  isn’t  delicate  to  talk  about 
children  when  you  have  only  been  engaged  a  couple  of 
weeks;  but,  you  see,  that’s  what  it  all  comes  to  after  ail. 
She’s  a  pretty  girl,  Bessie,  and  a  good  one.  too  I  don  t 
know  her  much — though  she  hasn’t  got  the  brains  of  Jess 
here.  That  reminds  me;  as  you  are  eng . 1  to  Bessie,  Ot. 


JESS. 


J?10 

c^aT’r.se  you  can  look  after  Jess,  and  ncoody  itil:.'  thitni  any¬ 
thing'  of  it.  Ah!  if  you  only  knew  what  a  place  tins  is  for 
talk,  though  their  talk  is  pretty  well  scared  out  of  tt<em 
now.  I'm  ihiiiking.  My  husband  is  coming  round  pres¬ 
ently  to  the  cart  to  help  to  get  Jess’  bed  into  it.  Lucky 
it  's  big.  YVe  are  such  a  tight  fit  in  that  wagon  that  I  shall 
be  downright  glad  to  see  the  last  of  the  dear  girl;  though, 
of  coui’se,  you’ll  both  come  and  take  your  meals  with  us.” 
'  Jess  heard  all  this  in  silence.  She  could  not  well  insist 
jupon  stopping  in  the  crowded  wagon;  it  would  be  asking 
jtoo  much;  and,  besides,  she  had  had  one  night  in  the 
/  wagon,  and  that  was  quite  enough  for  her.  Once  she  sug- 
j  gested  that  she  should  see  if  she  could  not  get  the  nuns  to 
;  take  her  in  at  the  convent,  but  Mrs.  Neville  instantly  sup¬ 
pressed  the  notion. 

‘  ‘  Nuns !’  ’  she  said ;  ‘  ‘  nonsense.  When  your  own  brother- 
in-law— at  least  he  \vill  be  your  brother-in-law  if  the  Boers 
don’t  make  an  end  of  us  all — is  here  to  take  care  of  you, 
don’t  talk  about  going  to  a  parcel  of  nuns.  It  will  be  as 
njuch  as  they  can  do  to  look  after  themselves,  I'll  be 
bound.” 

As  for  John,  he  ate  his  steak  and  said  nothing.  The  ar¬ 
rangement  seemed  a  very  proper  one  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  TWELFTH  OF  FEBRUARY. 

John  soon  settled  down  into  the  routine  of  camp  life  in 
Pretoria,  which,  after  one  once  got  accustomed  to  it.  was 
not  so  disagreeable  as  might  have  been  expected,  and  pos¬ 
sessed,  at  any  rate,  the  merit  of  novelty.  Although  he 
was  an  officer  of  the  army,  John  preferred,  on  the  whole, 
having  several  horses  to  ride,  and  his  services  not  being 
otherwise  required,  to  enroll  himself  in  the  corps  of 
mountd  volunteers,  known  as  the  Pretoria  Carbineers,  in 
the  humble  capacity  of  a  sergeant,  and  this  lie  obtained 
leave  from  the  officer  commanding  the  troops  to  do.  He 
was  an  active  man,  and  his  duties  in  connection  with  the 
corps  kept  him  fully  employed  during  most  of  the  day  and 
sometimes,  when  there  was  outpost_duty  to  be  done,, during 
a  good  part  of  the  night  too.  For  the  rest,  whenever  he 

fot  back  to  the  cart — by  which  he  had  stipulated  he  should 
e  allowed  to  sleep  in  order  to  protect  Jess  in  case  of  any 
danger — he  always  found  her  ready  to  greet  him,  and 
every  little  preparation  made  for  his  comfort  that  was  possi¬ 
ble  under  the  circumstances.  Indeed,  as  time  went  on.  they 
found  it  more  convenient  to  set  up  their  own  little  mess  in¬ 
stead  of  sharing  that  of  their  friends,  and  so  they  used 
©very  day  to  sit  down  and  breakfast  and  dine  together  ai: 


^E8S. 


a  little  table  rigged  up  out  of  a  packiog-oase.  n:'.d  placed 
Under  an  extemporary  tent,  for  all  the  \v(',iid  like  a  young 
congile  picnicking  on  their  honeyunoon. 

Of  coiii’se  the  whole  thing  was  very  irksome  in  a  way, 
but  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  it  had  a  clmrin  of  its  own. 
To  begin  with,  Jess,  when  once  one  got  thoroughly  to 
know  her,  was  one  of  the  most  delightful  companions  to  a 
man  like  John  Niel  that  it  was  possible  to  meet  with. 
Never,  till  this  long  tete-a-tete  at  Pretoria,  had  he  guessed 
how  poweful  and  original  was  her  mind,  or  how  Avitty  she 
could  be  Avhen  she  liked.  There  was  a  fund  of  dry  and 
suggestive  humor  about  her,  which,  although  it  would 
no  more  bear  being  Avritten  down  than  champagne  AA^ill 
bear  standing  in  a  tumbler,  -was  A^ery  pleasant  to  listen  to, 
more  especially  as  John  soon  disooA'^ered  that  he  was  the  only 
person  so  privileged.  Her  friends  and  relations  had  never 
suspected  that  Jess  was  humorous.  Another  thing  that 
struck  him  about  her,  as  time  AA^ent  on,  Avas  that  she  was 
growing  quite  handsome.  She  had  been  A-ery  pale  and 
thin  Av&n  he  reached  Pretoria,  but  before  a  month  Avaa 
over  she  had  got,  comparatively  speaking,  stout,  Avhich 
was  an  enormous  gain  to  her  appearance.  Her  pale  face, 
too,  gathered  a  faint  tinge  of  color,  that  came  and  went 
capriciously,  like  .starlight  on  the  Avater,  and  her  beautiful 
eyes  grew  deeper  and  more  beautiful  than  ever. 

"  T\Jio  AA'ould  CA’er  hav'e  thought  that  it  was  the  same 
girl!”  said  Mrs.  Neville  to  him,  holding  up  her  hands  as 
she  watched  Jess  solemnly  surveying  a  half-cookcd  mut¬ 
ton-chop.  ”  Why,  she  used  to  be  such  a  poor  creature, 
and  now  she's  quite  a  fine  women.  Aud  that  wiih  t  his 
life,  too,  Avhich  is  wearing  me  to  a  shadow  and  has  lialf 
killed  my  dear  daughter.” 

”  I  suppose  it  is  being  in  the  open  air,  ”  said  John,  it  hav¬ 
ing  never  occurred  to  him  that  the  medicine  that  was  doiug 
Jess  so  much  good  might  be  happiness.  But  so  it  was.  At 
first  there  had  been  a  struggle,  then  a  lull,  and  after  that 
an  idea.  Why  should  she  not  enjoy  his  society  while  she 
could?  He  had  been  thrown  into  her  wa,y  through  no  wish 
of  hers.  She  had  no  desire  to  Avoan  him  from  Bessie;  or  if 
she  had  the  desire,  it  Avas  one  she  Avas  far  too  honorable  a 
woman  to  entertain.  He  AA^as  perfectly  innocent  of  the 
whole  story;  to  him  she  Avas  the  young  lady  who  haj-peuea 
to  be  the  sister  of  the  Avoman  he  Avas  going  to  marry,  that 
wpts  all.  W^hy  should  she  not  })luck  her  innocent  rosc^A 
wliilst  she  might?  She  forgot  that  the  rose  is  a  flower 
with  'a  dangerous  peiJume,  and  one  that  is  apt  to  contr..r0 
the  senses  and  turn  tlie  head.  So  she  gaA'e  hersen  l  ui 
gAvirg,  and  fo]’  some  A\"eeks  Avont  nearer  to  knowing  wnat 
haopiness  really  meant  than  she  ever  hwk  before.  What  a 


J13 


JESS. 


tvonderful  thing  is  the  love  of  a  woman  in  its  simplicity  and 
strength,  and  how  it  gilds  all  the  poor  and  common  things 
of  life  and  even  finds  a  joy  in  service !  The  prouder  the 
woman  the  more  delight  does  she  extract  from  her  self- 
abasement  before  her  idol.  Only  not  many  women  can 
love  like  Jess,  and  when  they  do  they  almost  invariably 
make  some  fatal  mistake,  whereby  the  wealth  of  their 
affection  is  wasted,  or,  worse  still,  becomes  a  source  of 
misery  or  shame  to  themselves  and  others. 

It  was  after  they  had  been  incarcerated  in  Pretoria  for 
about  a  month  that  a  bright  idea  occurred  to  John.  About 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  outskirts  of  the  camp  stood  a 
little  house  known,  probably  on  account  of  its  diminutive 
size,  as  “the  Palatial.”  This  cottage  had  been,  like  al¬ 
most  every  other  house  in  Pretoria,  abandoned  to  its  fate, 
its  owner,  as  it  happened,  being  away  fi’om  the  town. 
One  day,  in  the  course  of  a  walk,  John  and  Jess  crossed  the 
little  bridge  that  spanned  the  sluit,  and  went  in  to  inspect 
the  place.  Passing  down  a  path  lined  on  either  side  with 
young  blue  gums,  they  reached  the  little  tin-roofed  cot¬ 
tage.  It  consisted  of  two  rooms — a  bedroom  and  a  good- 
sized  sitting-room,  in  which  still  stood  a  table  and  a  few 
chairs,  with  a  stable  and  a  kitchen  at  the  back.  They 
went  in  and  sat  down  by  the  open  door  and  looked  out.  The 
grounds  of  the  little  place  sloped  down  toward  a  valley,  on 
the  further  side  of  which  rose  a  wooded  hill.  To  the  right, 
too,  was  a  hill  clothed  in  deep  green  bush.  The  grounds 
themselves  were  planted  with  vines,  just  now  loaded  v  ith 
bunches  of  ripening  grapes,  and  surrounded  with  a  beau¬ 
tiful  hedge  of  monthly  roses  that  formed  a  blaze  of  bloom. 
Near  the  house,  too,  was  a  bed  of  double  roses,  some  of 
them  exceedingly  beautiful,  and  all  flowering  with  a  pi’o- 
fusion  unknown  in  this  country.  Altogether  it  was  a  de¬ 
lightful  little  spot,  and,  after  the  noise  and  glare  of  the 
camp,  seemed  perfectly  heavenly ;  and  they  sat  there  and 
talked  a  great  deal  about  the  farm  and  old  Silas  Croft  and 
a  little  about  Bessie. 

“  This  is  nice,”  said  Jess  presently,  putting  her  hands  be¬ 
hind  her  head  and  looking  out  at  the  bush  beyond. 

“Yes,”  said  John.  “I  say,  I’ve  got  an  idea.  I  vote  we 
take  up  our  quarters  here— during  the  day,  I  mean.  Of 
course  we  shall  have  to  sleep  in  camp,  but  we  might  eat 
here,  you  know,  and  you  could  sit  here  all  day;  it  would 
be  as  safe  as  a  church,  for  those  Boers  will  never  try  to 
storm  the  town,  I  am  sui-e  of  that.” 

Jess  reflected,  and  soon  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
would  be  a  charming  arrangement,  and  accordingly,  next 
day  she  set  to  work  and  got  the  place  as  nice  and  tidy  as 


JESS. 


uit 


cjircumatances  would  allow,  and  they  commenced  house¬ 
keeping. 

The  upshot  of  this  arrangement  was  that  they  were 
thrown  more  together  even  than  before.  Meanwhile  the 
siege  dragged  its  slow  length  along.  No  news  whatever 
reached  the  town  from  outside,  but  that  did  not  trou¬ 
ble  the  inhabitants  very  much,  as  they  were  sure  that 
Colley  was  advancing  to  their  relief,  and  even  got  up 
sweepstakes  as  to  the  date  of  his  arrival.  Now  and  then  a 
sortie  took  place,  biit,  as  the  results  attained  were  very 
small,  and  were  not,  on  the  whole,  creditable  to  our  arms, 
perhaps  the  less  said  about  them  the  better.  John,  of 
course,  went  out  on  these  occasions,  and  then  Jess  'wovdd 
endure  agonies  that  were  all  the  worse  because  she  had  to 
conceal  them.  She  lived  in  constant  teri’or  lest  he  should 
be  among  the  killed.  However,  nothing  happened  to  him, 
and  things  went  on  as  usual  till  the  twelfth  of  February, 
on  which  day  an  attack  was  made  on  a  place  called  the  Rod 
House  Kraal,  which  was  occupied  by  Boers  near  a  spot 
known  as  the  Six-mile  Spruit. 

The  force,  which  was  a  mixed  one.  left  Pretoria  betbre 
daybreak,  and  John  went  with  it.  He  was  rather  sur¬ 
prised  when,  on  going  to  the  caid  in  which  Jess  slept,  to 
get  some  little  thing  before  saddling  up.  he  found  her  sit¬ 
ting  on  the  box  in  the  night  dews  with  a  cup  of  hot  coffee 
she  had  prepai’ed  for  him  in  her  hand. 

“What  do  you  mean  by  this,  Jess?”  he  asked,  sharply. 
“  I  will  not  have  you  getting  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
to  make  coffee  for  me.  ” 

“  I  have  not  got  up,  ’  ’  she  answered,  quietly ;  “I  have  not 
been  to  bed.” 

“That  makes  matters  wor.se,”  he  said,  but  nevertheless 
he  drank  the  coffee  and  was  glad  to  get  it,  while  she  sat  on 
the  box  and  watched  him. 

“  Put  on  your  shawl  and  get  something  over  your  head.  ” 
he  said,  “  the  dew  will  soak  you  through.  Look,  yourhaii 
is  all  wet.  ’  ’ 

Presently  she  spoke.  “I  wish  you  would  do  something 
for  me,  John,”  for  she  called  him  John  now.  “  Will  you 
promise?” 

“  How  like  a  woman,”  he  said.  “  to  ask  one  to  promise  a 
thing  without  saying  what  it  is.”  ^ 

“  I  want  you  to  promise  for  Bessie’s  sake,”  she  said. 

“Well,  what  is  it,  Jess?” 

Not  to  go  on  this  sortie.  You  know  \'ou  can  easily  gefc 
or  it  if  you  like.” 

.  i.i  igh'ed.  “  You  little  silly,  why  no;  ?” 

"  don’t  know.  Don’t  laugh  at  i  .  because  I  am 


1.14 


JESS. 


lierv'ous.  I  am  .ilraid  tliat — that  something  might  !.■  -n.'-ett 
to  you.” 

‘'Well,”  he  remarked  consolingly,  “every  bullet  iri-i  its 
billet,  and  if  it  doew  I  don’t  see  that  it  can  be  helped.” 

“Think  of  Bessie,”  she  said  again. 

“Book  here,  Joss,”  he  answered  testily,  “what  is  the 
good  of  trying  to  take  the  heart  out  of  a  fellow  like  this? 
If  I  am  going  to  be  shot  1  can't  help  it,  and  I  am  not  going 
to  show  the  white  feather,  even  for  Bessie’s  sake;  so  there 
you  are,  and  now  I  must  be  off.” 

“You  are  quite  right,  John,”  she  said  quietly.  “I 
should  not  have  liked  to  hear  you  say  anything  different, 
but  I  could  not  help  speaking.  Good  bye,  John;  God  bless 
you!”  and  she  stretched  down  her  hand,  which  he  took, 
and  went. 

“Upon  my  word,  she  has  given  me  quite  a  turn.”  re¬ 
flected  John  to  himself,  as  the  troop  crept  on  through  the 
white  mists  of  dawn.  “I  suppose  she  thinks  that  I  am 
going  to  be  plugged.  Perhaps  I  am!  I  wonder  how  Bes 
sie  would  take  it?  She  would  be  awfully  cut  up,  but  I  ex 
pect  that  she  would  get  over  it  pretty  soon.  Now  I  don’t 
think  that  Jess  would  get  over  a  thing  of  that  sort  in  a 
hurry.  That  is  just  the  difference  between  the  two;  the 
one  is  all  flower  and  the  other  is  all  root.” 

And  then  he  fell  to  wondering  how  Bessie  was,  and  what 
she  was  doing,  and  if  she  missed  him  as  much  as  he  missed 
her,  and  so  on,  till  his  mind  came  back  to  Jess,  and  he  re- 
flecled  what  a  charming  companion  she  Avas,  and  how 
thoughtful  and  kind,  and  breathed  a  secret  hope  that  she 
would  continue  to  live  Avith  them  after  they  Avere"  married. 
Somehow  they  had  got  to  those  terars,  perfectly  innocent 
in  themselves,  in  which  two  people  became  absolutely 
necessary  to  each  other’s  daily  life.  Indeed  Jess  had  got 
a  long  way  further  than  that,  But  of  this  he  was  of  course 
ignorant.  He  was  still  at  the  former  stage,  and  was  not 
himself  aware  how  lai’ge  a  proportion  of  his  dailj^  thoughts 
Avere  occupied  by  this  dark  eyed  girl  or  hoAv  completely  her 
personality  was  overshadowing  him.  He  only  knew'  that 
she  had  the  knack  of  making  him  feel  thoroughly  happy 
in  her  society.  When  he  Avas  talking  to  her,  or  even  sit¬ 
ting  silently  by  her,  he  became  aAvare  of  a  sensation 
of  restfuluess  and  reliance  that  he  had  neA'er  before  cr  peri 
enced  in  the  society  of  a  Avoman,  Of  course  this  Avas  to  & 
large  extent  the  natural  homage  of  the  Aveaker  nature  tc 
the  stronger,  but  it  was  also  something  more.  It  Av.as  {he 
shadOAv  of  that  utter  sympathy  and  perfect  accord  w!  Jcli  ia 
the  surest  sign  of  the  presence  of  the  highest  forms  oi  ui;''  e- 
tion,  and  Avhen  it  accompanies  the  passion  of  u;  1 

wome.0,  as  it  sometimes  though  rarely  does,  bo’'  3 


JES3. 


115 


uiton  to  l3e  found  in  its  highest  form  in  those  relations 
from  Avhich  the  element  of  sexuality  is  excluded,  raises  it 
almost  above  the  level  of  the  earth.  For  the  love  where 
that  sympathy  exists,  whether  it  is  between  mother  and 
son.  husband  and  wife,  or  those  who,  whilst  desiring  it, 
have  no  hope  of  that  relationship,  is  an  undying  love,  and 
will  endure  till  the  night  of  Time  has  swalloAved  all  things. 

Meanwhile,  as  John  reflected,  the  force  to  which  he  v  as 
attached  was  moving  into  action,  and  he  sooii  found  it 
necessary  to  come  dovvii  to  the  unpleasantly  practical  de¬ 
tails  of  Boer  warfare.  More  particularly  did  this  come 
home  to  his  mind  when,  shortly  afterward,  the  man  next 
to  him  was  shot  dead,  and  a  little  later  ho  himself  was 
slightly'  wounded  by^  a  bullet  which  j^assed  between  his 
saddle  and  his  thigh.  Into  the  details  of  the  fight  that  en¬ 
sued  it  is  not  necessary  to  enter  here.  They  were,  if  any¬ 
thing,  more  discreditable  than  most  of  the  episodes  of  that 
unhappy  war  in  which  the  holding  of  Potchefstroom, 
Lydenburg,  Rustenburg,  and  Wakkerstroom  are  the  only' 
bright  spots.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  they'  ended  in  some¬ 
thing  very  like  an  utter  rout  at  the  hands  of  a  much  in¬ 
ferior  force,  and  that,  a  tew  hours  after  he  had  started, 
John  found  himself  on  the  return  road  to  Pretoria,  with  a 
severely  wounded  man  behind  his  saddle  (the  ambulance 
being  left  in  the  hands  of  the  Boers),  Avho,  as  they'  went 
Daiiifully  along,  mingled  curses  of  shame  and  fury  Avith 
his  own.  Meanwhile  exaggerated  accounts  of  Avhat  had 
happened  had  got  into  the  town,  and,  amongst  other 
things,  it  was  said  that  Captain  Niel  had  been  shot  dead. 
One  man  who  came  in  stated  that  he  saw  him  fall,  and 
that  he  was  shot  through  the  head.  This  Mrs.  Neville 
heal’d  Avith  her  own  ears,  and,  greatly  shocked,  started  to 
communicate  the  intelligence  to  Jess. 

As  soon  as  it  was  daylight,  Jess  had,  as  Avas  customary 
with  her,  gone  over  to  the  little  house  Avhich  she  and 
John  occupied,  the  Palatial,  as  it  Avas  ironically  called, 
and  settled  herself  there  for  the  day'.  T  irst  she  tried  to 
work  and  could  not,  so  she  took  a  book  that  she  had 
brought  with  her  and  began  to  read,  but  it  was  a  failure 
also.  Her  eyes  Avould  Avander  fi’om  the  page  and  her  ears 
kept  straining  to  catch  the  distant  booming  of  the  big  gu|'-3 
that  came  from  time  to  time  floating  across  the  hills.  The 
fact  of  the  matter  was  that  the  poor  girl  was  the  victim  of 
a  presentiment  that  something  \yas  going  to  happen  lo 
John.  Most  people  of  imaginative  mind  iiav'e  suffered 
from  this  kind  of  thing  at  one  time  or  other  in  their  liA'es, 
and  have  lived  to  see  the  folly  of  it;  and,  indeed,  there  Avas 
moie  in  the  cii'cuinstances  of  ihe  present  ca..e  to  excuse 
the  v-.aiii^cJlce  in  the  luxury  of  preseTyt^nents  than  is 


116 


J'ESS. 


usual.  Indeed,  as  it  happened,  she  was  not  far  out-  only 
a  sixteenth  of  an  inch  or  so— for  John  was  very  nearl^ 
killed. 

Not  finding  Jess  in  camp,  Mrs.  Neville  made  her  way 
across  to  the  Palatial,  Avhere  she  knew  the  girl  sat,  cry¬ 
ing  as  she  Avent,  at  the  thought  of  the  news  that  she  had 
to  communicate,  for  the  good  soul  had  grown  very  fond  of 
John  Niel.  Jess,  with  that  acute  sense  of  hearing  that 
often  accompanies  nervous  excitement,  caught  the  sound 
of  the  little  gate  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden  almost  before 
her  visitor  had  got  through  it,  and  ran  round  the  corner  of 
the  house  to  see  who  it  was 

One  glance  at  Mrs.  Neville’s  tear-stained  face  Avas  enough 
for  her.  She  knew  Avhat  was  coming,  and  clasped  at  one 
of  the  young  blue-gum  trees  that  grew  along  the  path  U 
prevent  herself  from  falling. 

“What  is  it?”  she  said  faintly.  “ Is  he  dead?” 

“Yes,  my  dear,  yes;  shot  through  the  head,  they  say.” 

Jess  made  no  ansAver,  but  clung  to  the  sapling,  feeling  as 
though  she  Avere  going  to  die  herself,  aitd  faintly  hoping 
that  she  might  do  so.  Her  eyes  wandered  vaguel}^  from 
the  face  of  the  messenger  of  CAdl,  first  up  to  the  sky,  then 
down  to  the  cropped  and  trodden  Amldt.  Past  the  gate  of 
the  Palatial  garden  ran  a  road,  Avhich,  as  it  happened,  was 
a  short  cut  from  the  scene  of  the  fight,  and  down  this  road 
came  four  Kafirs  and  half-castes,  bearing  something  on  a 
stretcher.  Avith  three  or  four  carbineers  riding  behind.  A 
coat  Avas  throvAm  over  the  face  of  the  form  on  the  stretcher, 
but  the  legs  Avere  Ausible.  They  Avere  booted  and.  spurred, 
and  the  feet  fell  apart  in  that  peculiarly  lax  and  helpless 
Avay  of  which  there  is  no  possibility  of  mistaking  the 
meaning. 

“  Look!”  she  said,  pointing. 

“Ah,  poor  man,  poor  man!”  said  Mrs.  Neville,  ‘‘they 
are  bringing  him  here  to  lay  him  out.” 

Then  Jess’  beautiful  eyes  closed,  and  doAAm  she  went  with 
the  bending  tree.  Presently  the  sapling  snapped,  and  she 
fell  senseless  with  a  little  cry,  and  as  she  did  so  the  men 
with  the  corpse  passed  on. 

Two  minutes  afterward,  John  Niel,  having  heard  the 
rumor  of  his  OAAm  death  on  arrival  at  the  camp,  and  greatly 
fearing  lest  it  should  have  got  to  Jess’  ears,  came  canter¬ 
ing  hurriedly  across,  and,  dismounting  as  well  as  his 
wound  would  allow,  limped  up  the  garden  path. 

“Great  heavens,  Captain  Niel!”  said  Mrs.  Neville,  look¬ 
ing  up;  “  why,  we  thought  that  you  were  dead!” 

“  And  that  is  what  you  have  been  telling  her,  i  suppose.  ” 
he  said  sternly,  glancing  at  the  pale  and  deathlike  face; 
“you  mia'ht  Y  -  ’-  aited  till  you  were  surg,  jgoor^irl!  ’'V- 


JESS. 


117 


Enast  have  given  her  a  turn;”  and,  stooping  do\rn.  he  got 
his  arms  under  her,  and  lifting  lier  wiih  some  di'hciilty, 
limped  off  to  the  house,  where  he  laid  lier  down  upon  the 
table  and,  assisted  by  Mrs.  Neville,  began  to  do  ail  in  his 
power  to  revive  her.  So  obstinate  was  her  taint,,  liowever, 
that  their  efforts  were  unavailing,  and  at  last  Neville 

started  off  to  the  camp  to  get  some  brandy,  leaving  him 
to  go  on  rubbing  her  hands  and  sprinkling  water  on  her 
face. 

The  good  lady  had  not  been  gone  more  than  tv/oor  three 
minutes  when  Jess  suddenly  opened  her  eyes  and  sat  up, 
and  then  slipped  her  feet  to  the  ground,  tier  eyes  fell 
upon  John  and  dilated  with  wonder,  and  he  thought  that 
she  was  going  to  faint  again,  for  eveii  her  lips  blanched, 
and  she  began  to  shake  and  tremble  all  over  in  the  extrem¬ 
ity  of  her  agitation. 

”  Jess,  Jess,  ”  he  said,  “for  God’s  sake  don’t  look  like 
that,  you  frigliten  me !” 

”  I  thought  you  were — I  thought  you  were - ”  she  said 

elowhy  and  then  suddenly  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears  and 
fell  forward  npoii  his  breast  and  lay  there  sobbing  her 
heart  out,  her  brown  curls  resting  against  his  face. 

It  was  an  awkward  position,  and  a  most  moving  one. 
John  was  only  a  man,  and  the  spectacle  of  this  strange 
woman,  to  whom  he  had  lately  grown  so  much  attached, 
plunged  into  intense  emotion,  awakened,  apparently,  by 
nnxiijy  about  his  fate,  stirred  him  very  deepl}^— as  it 
would  have  stirred  anybody.  Indeed,  it  struck  some  chord 
in  him  for  which  he  could  not  quite  account,  and  its  echoes 
charmed  and  yet  frightened  him.  V/hat  did  it  mean? 

”  Je.ss,  dear  Jess,  pray  stop;  I  can’t  bear  to  see  you  cry 
so.’’ 

She  lifted  her  head  from  his  shoulder  and  stood  looking 
at  him,  her  hand  resting  on  the  edge  of  the  table  behind 
her.  Her  face  was  wet  with  tears  and  looked  like  a  dew- 
washed  lily,  and  her  beautiful  eyes  were  alight  Avith  a 
flame  that  he  had  never  seen  in  the  eyes  of  Avoman  before. 
She  saiil  nothing,  but  her  whole  face  Avas  more  eloquent 
than  any  Avords,  for  there  are  times  Avhen  the  features  can 
coiiA’ey  a  message  in  a  language  of  their  own  that  is  more 
subtle  than  any  tongue  Ave  talk.  There  she  stood,  her 
breast  heaving  with  emotion  as  the  sea  heaA'es  Avhen  the 
fierceness  of  the  storm  has  passed — a  very  incarnation  of 
the  intensest  love  of  Avoman.  And  as  she  stood  something 
seemed  to  pass  before  her  eyes  and  blind  her,  and  a  spirit 
took  possession  of  her  that  absorbed  all  her  doubts  and 
fears,  and  she  gave  way  to  a  force  that  Avas  of  her  and  yet 
compelled  her,  as,  when  the  wind  blows,  the  sails  compel  a 
ship.  And  then,  for  the  -first  time,  where  her  love  was 


118 


JESS. 


concerned,  she  put  out  all  lier  strength.  She  knew,  an<S. 
had  always  known,  that  she  could  master  him,  and  force 
him  to  regard  her  as  she  regarded  him,  did  she  but  choose. 
How  she  knew  it  she  could  not  say,  but  so  it  was.  And 
now  she  yielded  to  an  overmastering  impulse  and  cliose. 
She  said  nothing,  she  did  not  even  move,  she  only  looked 
at  him. 

Why  were  you  in  such  a  fright  about  me?”  he  staiii- 
nerod. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  kept  her  eyes  upon  his  face,  and 
it  seemed  to  John  as  though  power  flow^ed  from  them;  for, 
as  she  looked,  he  felt  the  change  come.  Everything  melted 
away  before  the  almost  spiritual  intensity  of  her  gaze. 
Bessie,  honor,  his  engagement — all  were  forgotten;  the 
smoldering  embers  broke  into  flame,  and  he  knew  that  he 
loved  this  woman  as  he  had  never  loved  any  living  ci’eat- 
ure  before — that  he  loved  her  even  as  she  loved  him. 
Strong  man  as  he  was,  he  shook  like  a  leaf  before  her. 

“Jess,”  he  said  hoarsely,  “God  forgive  me!  Hove  you!” 
and  he  bent  forward  to  kiss  her. 

She  lifted  her  face  toAvard  him,  then  suddenly  changed 
her  mind,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  breast. 

“  You  forget,”  she  said,  almost  solemnly,  “  you  are  going 
to  marry  Bessie.” 

Overpowered  by'  a  deep  sense  of  shame,  and  by  another 
sense  of  the  calamity  that  had  overtaken  him,  John  turned 
and  limped  from  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

AND  AFTER. 

In  front  of  the  door  of  the  Palatial  was  a  round 
flower-bed  filled  with  weeds  and  flowers  mixed  up  together 
like  the  good  and  evil  in  the  heart  of  a  man,  and  to  the 
right-hand  side  of  this  bed  stood  an  old  Avooden  chair  Avith 
the  back  off.  No  sooner  had  John  got  outside  the  door  of 
the  cottage,  than  he  became  sensible  that,  Avhat  betAA^een 
one  thing  and  another — Aveariness,  loss  of  blood  from  his 
wound,  and  intense  mental  emotion — if  he  did  not  sit  doAvn 
somewhere  pretty  quickly  he  should  follow  the  example  set 
by  Jess  and  faint  straight  awayu  Accordingly'  ho  made  for 
the  old  chair  and  perched  himself  on  it  A\uth  gratitude. 
Presently  he  saw  Mrs.  Neville  coming  steaming  along  the 
path  Avith  a  bottle  of  brandy  in  her  hand. 

“Ah!”  he  thought  to  himself,  “  that  av  ill  just  come  in 
handy  for  me.  If  I  don’t  have  a  glass  of  brandy  soon  I 
shall  roll  off  this  infernal  chair — I  am  sure  of  it.” 

“  Where  is  Jess?”  panted  Mrs.  Neville. 

“In  tlue-i;, ’’  he  said;  “she  has  recovered,  ■•ok would 


JESS. 


113 


inave  been  better  for  us  both  if  she  hadn’t,'’  1,*  r  ided  to 
hiraseli 

“Why,  bless  me.  Captain  Kiel,  how  queer  yo’.i  look!” 
said  Mrs.  Neville,  fanning  herself  with  her  hat;  “and 
there  is  such  a  row  going  on  at  the  camp  there;  the  volun¬ 
teers  swear  that  they  will  attack  the  military  for  desei'ting 
tliera.  and  I  don't  know  what  all;  and  they  simply 
wouldn’t  believe  me  when  I  .said  you  were  not  shot.  Why, 
I  never!  Look!  your  boot  is  full  of  blood!  So  you  were 
hit  after  all.” 

“Might  I  trouble  you  to  give  me  some  brand Mrs. 
'Nevillef’’  said  John,  faintly. 

She  filled  a  glass  she  had  brought  Avith  her  half  full  of 
water  from  a  little  irrigation  furrow  that  ran  down  from 
the  main  sluit  by  the  road,  and  then  topped  it  up  with 
brandy.  He  drank  it.  and  felt  decidedly  better. 

“  Dear  me!”  said  Mrs.  Neville,  ”  there  are  a  pair  of  you 
now.  You  should  just  have  seen  that  girl  go  down  when 
she  saw  the  body  coming  along  the  road  !  I  made  sure  that 
it  was  you;  but  it  Avasn’t.  They  say  that  it  Avas  poor  Jim 
Smith,  son  of  old-Smith  of  Rustenburg.  I  tell  you  Avliat  it 
is.  Captain  Niel,  you  had  better  be  careful;  if  that  girl  isn’t 
in  love  with  you  she  is  something  very  like  it.  A  girl  does 
not  pop  over  like  that  for  Dick,  Tom,  or  Harry.  You  must 
forgive  an  old  woman  like  me  for  speaking  out  plain,  but 
she  is  an  odd  girl  is  Jess,  just  like  ten  Avomen  rolled  into 
one  so  far  as  her  mind  goes,  and  if  you  don’t  take  care  you 
Avill  get  into  trouble.  Avhich  will  be  rather  aAvkward,  as  ymu 
are  going  to  marry  her  sister.  Jess  isn’t  a  girl  to  have  a 
bit  of  a  liirt  to  pass  aAvay  the  time  and  havn  done  Avith  it, 
I  can  tell  you;”  and'she  shook  her  head  solemnlyp  as  though 
she  suspected  him  of  trifling  with  his  future  sister-in  law’s 
young  affections,  and  then,  without  Avaiting  for  an  answer, 
turned  and  went  into  the  cottage. 

As  for  John,  he  only  groaned.  What  could  he  do  but 
groan?  The  whole  thing  Avas  self-evident,  and  if  ever  a 
man  felt  ashamed  of  himself  tliat  man  was  John  Niel.  He 
Avas  a  strictly  honorable  individual,  and  it  cut  him_  to  the 
heart  to  think  that  he  had  entered  on  a  course  which  was 
not  honorable,  considering  his  engagement  to  Bessie. 
When  he  a  few  minutes  before  had  told  Jess  he  lovmd  her 
he  had  said  a  disgraceful  thing,  however  true  a  thing  it 
might  be.  And  that  Avas  the  Avorst  of  it;  it  Avns  true;  he 
did  loA'e  her.  He  felt  it  come  sAveeping  over  him  like  a 
wavm  as  she  stood  there  looking  at  him  in  the  room,  utterly 
droAvning  and  overpoAvering  his  affection  for  Bessie,  to 
whom  he  Avas  bound  by  every  tie  of  honor.  It  y  as  a  new 
and  a  Avonderful  thing  this  passion  that  had  ;ir;-«n  AvitJnn 
him,  as  a  strong  man  armed,  and  driven  ev*-*  *  .  w  afiec’ 


180 


JESS. 


tion  away  into  che  wasto  places  of  his  mind;  and.  unfortu¬ 
nately.  it  was  an  ovennasterinp:  and,  as  he  already  guessed, 
an  enduring  thing.  He  cursed  himself  in  Ids  shame  and 
anger  as  he  sat  there  recovering  his  equilibrium  on  the 
broken  chair  and  tying  a  handkerchief  tight  round  his 
wound.  What  he  fool  he  had  been!  AVhy  had  he  not 
waited  to  see  which  of  the  two  he  really  took  to?  Why 
had  Jess  gone  away  like  that  and  ibrown  lum  into  tempta¬ 
tion  with  her  pretty  sister?  He  wa,s  sure  now  that  she  had 
cared  for  him  all  along.  Well,  there  it  was.  and  a  precious 
bad  business  too!  One  thing  he  was  clear  about;  it  should 
go  no  further.  He  was  not  going  to  break  his  engagement 
to  Bessie;  it  was  not  to  be  thouglit  of.  But,  all  the  same, 
he  felt  sorry  for  himself,  and  sorry  for  Jess  too. 

Just  then,  however,  the  bandage  on  his  leg  slipped,  and 
the  wound  began  to  bleed  so  fast  that  he  was  fain  to  limp 
into  the  house  for  assistance. 

Jess,  who  had  apparently  quite  got  over  her  agitation, 
was  standing  by  the  table  talking  to  Mrs.  Neville,  who  was 

Eersuading  her  to  swallow  some  of  the  brandy  she  had 
een  at  such  pains  to  fetch.  The  moment  she  caught 
(sight  of  John’s  face,  which  had  now  turned  ghastly  white, 
and  saw  the  red  line  trickling  down  his  boot,  she  took  up 
tier  hat  that  was  lying  on  the  table. 

“  You  had  better  lie  down  on  the  old  bedstead  in  th« 
little  room,”  she  said;  ”  I  am  going  for  the  doctor.” 

Assisted  by  Mrs.  Neville,  he  was  only  too  glad  to  takf 
this  advice,  but  long  before  the  doctor  arrived  John  had 
followed  Jess’  example,  and,  to  the  intense  alarm  of  Mrs. 
Neville,  who  was  vainly  endeavoring  to  check  the  flow  of 
blood,  which  had  now  become  copious,  gone  off  into  a  dead 
faint.  On  the  arrival  of  the  doctor  it  appeared  that  the 
bullet  had  grazed  the  walls  of  one  of  the  arteries  on  the 
inside  of  the  thigh  without  actually  cutting  them,  but  that 
they  had  now  given  way,  w-hich  rendered  it  necessary  to 
fie  the  artery.  This  operation,  with  the  assistance  of 
chloroform,  he  proceeded  to  successfully  carry  out  on  the 
spot,  announcing  afterwards  that  a  great  deal  of  blood  had 
already  been  lost. 

When  at  last  it  was  over  Mrs.  Neville  asked  about  John 
being  moved  up  to  the  hospital,  but  the  doctor  declared 
that  he  must  stop  where  he  was,  and  that  Jess  must  stop 
and  help  to  nurse  him,  with  the  assistance  of  a  soldier’? 
wife  he  would  send  dov.m 

“Dear  me,”  said  Mrs.  Neville,  “that  is  very  awk 

ward.” 

•  ;  'viil  be  awk  warder  if  you  try  to  move  him  at  pres 

exk  ■  .  •  '.be  grim  reply,  “  for  the  silk  may  slip, 'in  which 


JESS.  \21 

pane  f  no  artery  will  probably  break  out  again,  and  h-s  will 
bleed  to  death.” 

\s  for  Jess,  she  said  nothing,  but  s-'  t  to  Avork  to  make 
preparations  for  her  task  of  nursing.  As  Fate  ha.d  once 
more  throAA-n  them  together  she  aceepted  the  jjosition 
gladly,  though  it  is  only  fair  to  say  that  she  'vould  not 
ha\  e  sought  it. 

In  about  an  hour’s  time,  just  as  John  vras  beginning  to 
recover  from  the  painful  effects  of  the  chloroform,  the  sol¬ 
dier's  AA'ife  who  AAua;-  to  assist  her  in  nursing  <ajTived.  She 
Was.  as  Jess  soon  discovered,  not  onl\-  a.  low  stamp  of 
woman,  but  both  cai’eless  and  igiiorant  into  the  bargain, 
and  all  that  she  could  be  relied  on  to  do  Avas  to  carry  out 
some  of  the  rou.gher  Avork  of  the  sick-rocm.  When  .Jolin 
woke  np  and  discovered  Avhose  Avas  the  presence  tliat  was 
bending  over  him,  and  Avhose  the  cool  hand  that  lay  upon 
his  foivliead,  he  gi’oancd  again  and  Avent  to  sleep.  But 
Jess  did  not  go  to  sleep.  She  sat  by  him  there  throughout 
the  Jiight,  till  at  Inst  the  cold  lights  of  I  lie  daAvn  came 
■gleaming  through  tlie  window  arid  fi'li  ipion  the  whitu  fnce 
of  the  man  she  loved.  He  Avas  still  slec'piug  soundly,  and. 
as  the  night  was  exceedingly  hot  and  oppressive,  she  had 
left  notluiig  but  a  shcr't  OA-er  liim.  Before  she  wxnt  toi’est 
a  little  hei’self  sin-  mnied  to  look  at  him  once  more,  and  as 
she  did  so  saw  ilio  slice r  suddenly  groAv  red  with  blood. 
The  artery  bad  broken  out  again. 

Calling  to  the  soldier’s  Avife  to  run  across  to  the  doctor, 
Jess  shook  her  patient  till  lie  Avoke,  for  he  was  sleeping 
SAveetly  through  the  whole  thing,  and  would,  no  doubt, 
have  continued  to  do  so  till  he  glided  into  a  deeper  sleep; 
and  then  between  tliem  they  did  Avhat  they  could  to 
quench  that  dreadful  pumping  flow,  Jess  knotting  her 
handkerciiief  round  his  leg  and  tAvisting  it  with  a  stick, 
while  he  pressed  his  tliiimb  upon  the  severed  artery.  But, 
strive  ns  they  would,  tliey  wei'e  only  partially  successful, 
and  Jess  began  to  think  that  he  Avould  die  in  her  jams 
from  loss  of  blood.  It  was  agonizing  to  Avait  there  minute 
after  minute  and  see  hi.s  life  ebbing  aAvay. 

‘•I  don’t  think  I  shall  last  inuch  longer,  Jess.  God 
bless  you,  dear!”  he  said.  “The  place  is  beginning  to  go 
round  and.round.  ” 

Poor  soul!  she  could  only  set  her  teeth  and  Avait  for  the 
end. 

Presently  John’s  pressure  on  the  wounded  artery  re¬ 
laxed.  and  he  fainted  oft',  and.  oddly  enough,  just  then  the 
iiow  of  blood  diminished  considerably.  Another  five  min¬ 
utes.  and  she  heard  the  quick  step  of  the  doctor  eoming  up 
the  pa’^h. 


122 


JESS. 


“Thar.k  you  have  come!  fie  has  bled  dread* 

fully,  ’  ’ 

‘‘I  vas  out  attending  a  poor  fellow  who  waS'  shol 
through  the  lung,  and  that  fool  of  a  woman  waited  for  me 
to  come  back  instead  of  following.  I  have  brought  you  an 
orderly  instead  of  her.  By  Jove,  he  has  bled!  I  mipposa 
the  silk  has  slipped.  Well,  there  is  only  one  thing  for  it. 
Orderly,  the  chloroform.'’ 

Arid  then  followed  another  long  half-hour  of  slashing, 
and  tying,  and  horror,  and  when  at  last  the  unfortunate 
John  opened  his  eyes  r.gain  he  was  too  weak  to  speak,  and 
could  only  smile  feebly  For  three  days  after  this  he  Avas 
in  a  dangerous  state,  for  if  the  artery  had  broken  out  for 
the  third  time  the  chances  were  that,  having  so  little 
blood  left  in  his  A^eins,  he  Avould  die  before  anything  could 
be  done  for  Idm.  At  times  he  was  very  delirious  from 
weakness,  and  these  Avere  the  dangerous  hours,  for  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  keep  him  quiet,  and  every  movement 
thre-AV  Jess  into  an  agony  of  terror  lest,  the  silk  fastenings 
of  the  artery  should  break  away.  Indeed  there  was  only 
one  Avay  in  Avhich  she  could  keep  him  quiet,  apd  that  Avas 
by  laying  her  slim  white  hand  upon  his  forehead  or  giving 
it  to  him  to  hold.  Oddly  enough,  this  had  more  effect 
upon  his  fevered  mind  than  anything  else.  For  hour  after 
hour  she  Avould  sit  thus,  though  her  arm  ached,  and  her 
back  felt  as  if  it  were  going  to  break  in  two,  till  at.  last  she 
was  rewarded  by  seeing  his  Avild  eyes  cease  their  wander¬ 
ings  and  close  in  peaceful  sleep. 

Yet  Avith  it  all,  that  Aveek  was  perhaps  the  happiest  time 
in  her  life.  There  he  lay,  the  :nan  she  loved  with  all  the 
intensity  of  her  deep  nature ;  and  she  ministered  to  him, 
and  felt  that  he  loved  her,  and  depended  on  her  as  a  babe 
upon  its  mother.  Evmn  in  his  delirium  her  name  Avas  con¬ 
tinually  on  his  lips,  and  generally  with  some  endearing 
term  before  it.  She  felt,  in  those  dark  hours  of  doubt  and 
sickness,  as  though  they  tAvo  Avere  groAving  life  to  life,  knit 
up  in  a  divine  identity  she  could  not  analyze  or  understand. 
She  felt  that  it  was  so,  and  she  believed  that,  once  being 
so,  whateAmr  her  future  might  be,  that  communion  could 
never  be  dissolved,  and  therefore  was  she  happy,  though, 
she  kneAvthat  his  recovery  meant  their  life-long  separation. 
For  though  Jess  had  once.  Avhcn  thrown  utterly  off  her 
balance,  given  her  passion  sway,  it  Avas  not  a  thing  she 
meant  to  repeat.  She  had,  she  felt,  injured  Bessie  enough 
already  in  taking  her  future  husband’s  heart.  That  she 
could  not  help  noAv,  but  she  would  take  no  inore^  John, 
should  go  back  to  her  sister. 

And  so  she  sat  and  gazed  at  that  sleeping  man  through 
the  long  watches  of  tlie  night,  and  AA*as  happy.  There  lay 


JESS. 


123 


licr  joy.  Soon  he  would  be  taken  from  her  aTid  sl.e  would 
be  left  desolate ;  but  whilst  he  lay  there  ho  Avas  hors.  It 
was  passing  sweet  to  her  woman’s  heart  to  lay  her  hand 
upon  him  and  see  him  sleep,  for  this  desire  to  watch  the 
sleep  of  a  beloved  object  is  one  of  tlie  highest  and  sti'angest 
manifestations  of  passion.  Truly,  and  with  a  keen  in¬ 
sight  into  the  hnman  heart,  has  the  poet  said  that  there  is 
no  joy  like  the  joy  of  a  woman  Avatching  Avliat  she  loves 
asleep.  As  J&ss  sat  and  gazed,  those  beautiful  and  tend^ 
lines  came  floating  into  her  mind,  and  she  thought  how 
true  they  were : 

“  For  there  it  lies,  so  tranquil,  so  beloved, 

All  that  it  hath  of  life  with  us  is  living; 

So  gentle,  stirless,  helpless,  and  unmoved, 

And  all  unconscious  of  the  joy  ’tis  giving; 

All  it  hath  felt,  inflicted,  passed,  and  proved, 

Hush’d  into  depths  beyond  the  watcher’s  diving; 

There  lies  the  thing  we  loved  with  all  its  errors 
And  all  its  charms,  like  death  without  its  terrors.” 

Ay !  thet'C  lay  the  thing  she  loved. 

The  time  went  on.  and  the  artery  broke  out  no  more,  and 
then  at  last  came  a  morning  when  John  opened  his  eyes 
and  watched  the  pale  earnest  face  bending  over  him  as 
though  he  w'ere  trying  to  remember  something.  Pres¬ 
ently  he  shut  his  eyes  again.  He  had  remembered. 

“i  have  been  veiy  ill,  Jess,”  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

“Yes,  .John.” 

”  And  vou  have  nursed  me?” 

“Yes,  John.” 

Am  1  going  to  recover?” 

‘‘Of  cour.se  you  are.” 

He  shut  his  eyes  again. 

“I  suppose  there  is  no  news  from  outside?” 

”  No  more;  things  are  just  the  same.” 

“Nor  from  Bessie?” 

“  None;  we  are  quite  cut  off.” 

Then  came  a  pau.se. 

“John,”  said  Jess,  “I  want  to  say  something  to  you. 
When  people  are  delirious,  or  when  deliriujn  is  coming  on, 
they  sometimes  s;vy  thing.s  that  they  are  not  responsible 
for,  and  which  had  better  be  forgotten.” 

“Yes,”  he  said,  “  I  understand  ” 

“So,”  she  went  on,  in  the  same  measured  tone,_“we 
will  forget  everything  you  may  fancy  that  you  said,  or 
that  I  did,  since  "the  time  when  you  came  in  wounded  and 
found  that  I  had  fainted.” 

“  Quite  so,”  said  John.  “  I  renounce  them  all.” 

“  JTY  renounce  them  all,”  she  corrected,  and  gave  a  sol¬ 
emn  little  nod  of  her  head  and  sighed,  and  tlr:  ■  ^  ”ey  rakp 
fied  that  audacious  compact  of  oblivion. 


JESS. 


12'- 

Bur.  if  was  a  lie,  and  they  both  knew  that  it  wf :: lio.  V4' 
love  had  existed  before,  was  there  anytliiiigiu  his  helpless¬ 
ness  and  her  long  and  toTider  cart'  to  make  it  less?  Alas! 
no;  rather  was  their  companionsliip  the  more  pei ‘ect  and 
their  sympathy  the  more  complete.  '•  Propinquity,  sir, 
propinquity,”  as  the  wise  man  said;  we  all  know  tne  evils 
of  it. 

It  was  a  lie,  and  a  very  common  and  everyday  sort  of 
lie.  Who,  being  behind  the  scenes,  has  not  laughed  in  his 
sleeve  to  see  it  acted?  Who  has  not  admired  and  wondered 
at  the  cold  and  formal  bow  a.nd,s!iake  of  the  hand,  the  teti 
der  inquiries  after  the.  heal’h  of  the  maiden  aunt  and  the 
baby,  the  carelessly  expressed,  wdsli  that  we  may  meet 
somewhere —all  so  palpably  overdone?  That  the  heroine  of 
the  impassioned  scene  at  which  we  had  unfortunately  to 
assist  an  hour  ago !  Wliere  are  the  tears,  the  convulsive 
sobs,  the  heartbroken  grief?  And  that  the  young  gentle¬ 
man  who  saw  nothing  for  it  but.  flight  or  a  pistol  bullet! 
There,  all  the  world's  a  stage,  and  fortunately  juost  of  us 
can  act  a  bit  at  a  pinch. 

Yes,  we  can  act;  we  can  paint  the  face  and  powder  the 
hair,  and  summon  up  the  set  sniile  and  the  regulation 
joke,  and  make  pretense  that  things  are  as  things  were, 
when  they  are  as  different  as  the  North  Pole  from  the 
Tondd  Zone.  But  unfortunately,  or  fortunately —I  don't 
know  which— we  cannot  bedeck  our  inner  selves  and  make 
them  mime  as  the  occasion  please.s,  and  siiig  tho  old  songs 
when  their  lips  are  set  to  a  strange  new  chant.  Of  a  surety 
there  is  within  ns  a  spark  of  the  Eternal  Truth,  for  in  our  own 
hearts  we  cannot  lie.  And  so  it  was  with  these  two.  From 
that  day  forward  they  forgot  that  scene  in  the  sitting 
room  of  the  Palatial,  when  Jess  put  out  her  strengtli  and 
John  bent  and  broke  before  it  like  a  rush  before  tlie  wind. 
Surely  it  was  a  part  of  the  delirium!  They  forgot  that, 
now,  alas!  they  loved  each  other  with  a  love  that  did  but 
gather  force  from  its  despair.  They  talked  of  Be.ssie,  and 
of  John's  marriage,  and  discussed  .Joss’  plans  for  going  to  Eu¬ 
rope.  just  as  though  these  were  not  inattors  of  spiritual  life 
and  death  to  each  of  them.  In  .short,  however  they  might 
for  one  brief  moment  have  gone  astray,  now,  to  their 
honor  be  it  said,  they  followed  tho  path  of  duty  wuth  un¬ 
flinching  fe3t,  nor  did  they  cry  when  the  .stones  cut  them. 

But  it  was  all  a  living  lie,  and  they  know  it.  For  be¬ 
tween  them  stood  the  iia-evocahle  past,  who  for  good  or 
evil  had  bound  them  together  in  his  imchanginfr  bonds, 
and  with  ccrds  that  could  not  be  broken. 


JESS. 


125 


chaptp:r  XIX. 

COETZEE  COMES  TO  PRETORIA. 

When  once  he  had  taken  the  turn.  Jolin’s  recovery  was 
rapid.  Naturally  of  a  vigorous  constitution,  when  the 
artery  had  fairly  united,  he  soon  made  up  for  the  great 
loss  of  blood  which  he  had  undergone,  and  in  a  little  more 
than  a  month  from  the  date  of  his  wound  was.  physically, 
almost  as  good  a  man  as  ever. 

One  morning— it  was  the  20th  of  March — Jess  and  he 
were  sitting  in  the  Palatial  garden.  John  was  lying  in  a 
long  cane  deck-chair  that  Jess  had  borrowed  or  stolen  out 
of  one  of  the  deserted  houses,  and  smoking  a  pipe.  By  his 
side,  in  a  hole  in  the  flat  arm  of  the  chair,  made  originally 
to  receive  a  soda-water  tumbler,  was  a  great  bunch  of  pur¬ 
ple  grapes  which  she  had  gathered  for  him;  and  on  his 
knee  was  a  cony  of  that  journalistic  curiosity,  the  Neics  of 
the  Camp,  wdii’ch  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  its  utter  dearth 
of  news.  Ifc  is  not  easy  to  keep  a  newspaper  going  in  a  be¬ 
leaguered  town. 

They  sat  in  silence;  John  puffing  away  at  his  pipe,  and 
Jess,  her  Avork-  one  of  his  socks- lying  idly  upon  her 
knees,  with  her  Lands  clasped  over  it.  and  lier  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  lights  and  shadows  that  played'  with  broad 
fitigers  upon  the  av coded  slopes  beyond. 

So  silently  did  they  sit  that  a  great  green  lizard  came 
and  basked  himself  in  the  sun  Avithin  a  yard  of  them, 
and  a  beautiful  striped  butterfly  perched  deliberately  upon 
the  purple  grapes !  It  Avas  a  delightful  day  and  a  delight¬ 
ful  spot.  Ttiey  were  too  far  from  the  camp  to  bedistuj-bed 
by  its  rude  noise,  and  the  only  sound  that  reached  their 
ears  Avas  the  rippling  of  running  Avater  and  the  Avliis- 
pers  of  the  Avind,  odorous  with  the  breath  of  mimosa 
blooms,  as  it  stirred  the  stiff  gray  leaves  on  the  blue- 
gums. 

They  Avere  sitting  in  the  shade  of  the  little  house  tliat 
Jess  had  learned  to  love  as  she  had  never  loA'ed  a  .‘^pot  be¬ 
fore,  but  around  them  lay  the  flood  or  sunshine  shimmer¬ 
ing  like  golden  Avater;  and  beyond  the  red  line  of  the  fence 
at  the  end  of  the  garden,  where  the  rich  pomegranate 
bloom  tried  to  blush  the  roses  down,  the  hot  air  danced 
merril}'  above  the  rough  stone  Avail  like  a  million  micro¬ 
scopic  el  A^es  at  play.  Peace!  everywhere  was  peace!  and 
in  it  the  full  heart  of  nature  beat  out  in  radiant  life.  Peace 
in  the  A'oice  of  tire  turtle-doves  among  the  Avillows!  peace 
in  the  plaj' of  the  sunshine  and  the  murmur  of  the  wind! 
peact' m  the  groAving  flowers  and  hovering  butterfly  !  Jess 
looked  OM^.  q  t.  the  Avealth  and  glory  that  la  a  about  her,  ant\ 


126 


JESS. 


thought  tha-ti  it  ^vaB  like  heaven;  and  then,  givit  ■  '  y  ta 
that  queer,  inelancholj^  strain  in  her  nature,  beg;!:,  (ovon- 
der  idly  how  many  human  beings  had  sat  and  llio\;ghi  the 
same  things,  and  had  been  gathered  up  into  the  azure  of 
the  past  and  forgotten;  and  how  many  would  sit  and  think 
there  when  she  in  her  turn  had  been  utterly  swept  away 
into  that  gulf  from  whence  no  echo  ever  comes !  But  what 
did  it  matter?  The  sunshine  would  still  flood  the  earth 
Vith  gold,  the  water  would  ripple,  and  the  butterflies 
hover;  and  there  would  be  other  women  to  sit  and  fold 
their  hands  and  look  at  it  all,  and  think  the  same  iden¬ 
tical  thoughts;  beyond  whicli  the  human  intelligence 
eaimot  travel.  And  so  on  for  thousands  upon  thousands 
of  centuries,  till  at  last  the  old  world  reaches  its  journey’s 
appointed  end,  and,  passing  from  the  starry  spaces,  is 
swallowed  up  with  those  it  bore. 

And  she— where  would  she  be?  Would  she  still  live  on. 
and  love  and  suffer  on  elsewhere,  or  was  it  all  a  cruel  myth? 
Was  she  merely  a  creature  bred  of  the  teeTuing  eai'ih,  or 
had  she  an  individuality  beyond  the  earth?  What  awaited 
her  after  simset?  Sleep!  She  had  often  hoped  that  it  was 
sleep,  and  nothing  but  sleep.  But  now  she  did  not  hope 
that.  Her  life  had  centered  itself  round  a  new  interest, 
and  one  that  she  felt  could  never  die  while  the  life  Insted. 
She  liopedfor  a  future  nowy  for  if  there  was  a  future  for 
her,  there  would  bo  oue  for  him,  and  then  her  day  would 
eome,  and  where  he  was  there  she  would  be  also.  Oh, 
sweet  mockery,  old  and  unsubstantial  thought,  bright 
dreatii  set  halowise  about  the  dull  head  of  life!  Yv'ho  has 
not  dreamt  it  and  yet  who  can  believe  in  it?  And  yet,  who 
shall  say  that  it  may  not  be  true?  Though  philo.sophers 
and  scientists  smile  and  point  in  derision  to  the  gross  facts 
and  freaks  that  mark  our  passions,  is  it  not  .‘^till  possible 
that  there  may  be  a  jflace  where  the  love  shall  live  wlven 
the  lust  has  died;  and  where  Jess  will  find  tliat  sl.e  h  vsnot 
sat  in  vain  in  the  sunshine,  throwing  out  her  pure  heart 
toward  the  light  of  a  happiness  and  a  visioned  gh>7-y  of 
which,  for  some  few  minutes,  the  shadow  seemed  lo  lay 
within  her? 

John  had  finished  his  pipe,  and,  although  site  did  not 
know  it,  was  watchitig  her  face,  which,  now  that  :  he  wag 
off  her  guard,  was  no  longer  impas.sive,  but  seemed  to  mir¬ 
ror  the  tender  and  glorious  hope  that  was  floaLmg  through 
her  mind.  Her  lips  were  slightly  parted,  and  her  wide 
eyes  were  full  of  a  soft  strange  light,  while  on  the  whole 
countenance  was  a  look  of  eager  thought  and  spiritual i.'5ed 
desire  such  as  he  had  known  portrayed  in  ancient  master¬ 
pieces  upon  the  f;ice  of  the  Virgin  Mother.  Jess  w.-,  ,  .  .  t, 
except  as  recrards  her  eyes  and  hair,  even  a  good-’  -  '‘drii? 


pei’soil.  But,  at  that  inoment,  John  tbouptht  that  her  face 
was  louchud  with  a  diviner  beauty  than  ho  had  yet  oeen  on 
tho  face  of  woman.  It  thi-illed  him  and  appealed  to  liirn, 
not  ay  Bessie’s  beauty  had  appealed,  but  to"  that  other  rude 
of  bis  nature,  of  which  Jess  alone  could  turn  the  key.  Her 
face  was  more  like  the  face  of  a  spirit  than  a  huilian  be¬ 
ing’s,  and  it  almost  frightened  him  to  see  it. 

“Jess,’’  he  said  at  last,  “  wliat  are  you  thinking  of?” 

She  started,  and  her  face  resumed  its  normal  air.  It 
was  as  though  a  mask  had  been  suddenly  set  upon  it. 

“Why  do  you  ask?’’  she  said. 

“Because  I  want  to  know.  I  never  saw  you  look  like 
that  before.” 

She  laughed  a  little. 

“You  would  think  me  foolish  if  I  told  you  what  I  was 
thinking  about.  Never  mind,  it  has  gone  wherever  thoughts 
go.  I  will  tell  you  what  I  am  thinking  about  now,  wdiioh 
IS — that  it  is  about  time  we  got  out  of  this  place.  My 
uncle  and  Bessie  will  be  half  distracted.” 

“  We've  had  more  than  two  months  of  it  now.  The  re¬ 
lieving  column  can’t  be  far  off,”  suggested  John ;  for  these 
foolish  people  iu  Pretoria  labored  under  the  firm  belief 
that  one  fine  morning  they  would  be  gratified  with  tho 
sight  of  the  light  dancing  down  a  long  line  of  British 
bayonets,  and  of  Boers  evaporating  in  every  direction  like 
storm  clouds  before  the  sun.  _  , 

Jess  shook  her  head.  She  was  beginning  to  lose  faith  in 
relieving  columns  that  never  came. 

“If  we  don’t  help  ourselvms,  my  opinion  is  that  we  may 
stop  here  till  we  are  starved  out,  which  we  pretty  well 
are.  However,  it’s  no  use  talking  about  it,  so  I’m  off  to 
get  our  rations.  Let’s  see,  have  you  got  everything  you 
want?” 

“Everything,  thanks.” 

“Well,  then,  mind  you  stop  quiet  till  I  come  back.” 

“  Why,”  laughed  John,  “  I  am  as  strong  as  a  horse.” 

“  Possibly  ;  but  that-  is  what  the  doctor  said,  you  know„ 
Good-bye!”  And  Jess  took  her  big  basket  and  started  on 
what  John  used  to  feebly  call  her  “  rational  under¬ 
taking.  ’  ’ 

She  had  not  got  fifty  paces  from  the  door  before  sher 
suddenly  caught  sight  of  a  familiar  iorm,  seated  on  a 
familiar  pony.  The  form  vv'as  fat  and  jovial-looking,  and 
the  pony  was  small  but  also  fat.  It  v/as  Hans  Coetzee— 
none  other ! 

Jess  could  hardly  belie v'O  her  eyes.  Old  Hans  in  Pre¬ 
toria!  What  could  it  mean? 

“ Odi  Coetzee!  Om  Coetzee!”  she  came 


JESS. 


las. 

ambling  past  her,  evidently  making  for  the  Heidelberg 
road. 

The  old  Boer  pulled  tip  his  pony,  and  gaaed  around  luta 
in  a  mystified  way. 

“  Here,  Om  Coetzee !  Here!” 

“  Allemachter !”  he  said,  jerking  his  pony  round.  “  It’s 
you,  Miss  Jess,  is  it?  Now  who  would  have  thought  of 
seeing  you  here?” 

“  Who  would  Imve  thought  of  seeing  you  hero?”  sheaa' 
swered. 

“Yes,  yes;  it  seems  strange;  I  dare  say  that  it  seems 
strange.  But  I  am  a  messenger  of  peace,  like  Uncle  Noah’s 
dove  in  the  ark,  you' know.  The  fact  is.”  and  he  glanced 
round  to  see  if  anybody  was  listening,  “I  have  been  sent 
by  the  government  to  arrange  about  an  exchange  of  pris¬ 
oners.  ’  ’ 

”  The  government!  What  government?” 

*■  What  government?  Why,  the  triumvirate,  of  course 
—whom  may  the  Lord  bless  and  prosper  as  he  did  Jonah 
when  be  walked  on  the  wall  of  the  city.” 

“Joshua,  when  ho  "alked  round  the  wall  of  the  city,” 
suggested  Jess.  “Jonah  walked  down  the  whale’s 
throat.” 

“Ah!  to  be  sure,  so  he  did,  and  blew  a  trumpet  inside. 
I  remember  now;  though  I  am  sure  I  don’t  know  how  he 
did  it.  The  fact  is  that  our  glorious  victories  have  quite 
confused  me.  Ah!  what  a  thing  it  is  to  be  a  pati’iot!  The 
dear  Lord  makes  strong  the  arm  of  a  patriot,  and  takes 
«are  that  he  hits  his  man  well  in  the  middle.  ” 

“You  have  turned  wonderfully  pjitriotic  all  of  a  sudden, 
Om  Coetzee.”  said  Jess  tartly. 

“Yes,  missie,  yes;  I  am  a  patriot  to  the  bone  of  ray 
back.  I  hate  the  English  Government;  damn  the  English 
Government!  Let  us  have  our  land  back  and  our  Volks- 
raad.  Almighty!  I  saw  who  was  in  the  right  at  Laing’s 
Nek  there.  Ah,  those  poor  rooibaatjes!  I  shot  four  of 
them  myself :  two  as  they  came  up.  and  two  as  they  ran 
away,  and  the  last  one  went  head  over-heels  like  a  buck. 
Poor  man!  I  cried  for  him  afterward.  I  did  not  like  going 
to  fight  at  all,  but  Frank  Muller  sent  to  me  and  said  that 
if  I  did  not  go  he  would  have  me  shot.  Ah,  he  is  a  devil 
of  a  man,  that  Frank  Muller!  So  I  went,  and  when  I  saw 
how  the  dear  Lord  had  put  it  into  the  heart  of  the  English 
general  to  bo  a  bigger  fool  even  that  day  than  he  is  every 
day,  and  to  try  and  drive  us  out  of  Laing’s  Nek  witli  a 
thousand  of  his  poor  roofbaatjes,  then,  I  tell  you,  I  saw 
where  the  right  lay,  and  I  said  *  Damn  the  English  Gov¬ 
ernment!  What  is  the  English  Government  doing  here?* 
and  after  Ir.rogo  I  said  it  again,’’ 


JESS. 


129 


“No^’er  mind  all  that,  Oin  Coetzee,”  hrohe  in  Tssr-f.  “  I 
have  lieard  you  tell  a  diil'erent  tale  before,  a.nd  parhaps 
you  will  again.  Tell  )ne,  how  are  my  uncle  ajicl  rriy  sistee’? 
Are  they  at  the  farm?" 

"Almighty!  you  don’t  Birpjioso  th;i.t  I  have  been  there 
to  see,  do  you?  j^n.t  yes,  I  have  luvard  they  are  i  hei-e.  ft 
is  a  n.ice  place,  tliat  Mooifontein,  and  I  think  tliat  1  shall 
buy  it  when  we  have  turned  ail  you  English  people  out  of 
the  land.  Frardc  Muller  told  me  that  they  were  there. 
And  now  I  must  be  getting  on,  or  that  devil  of  a  man, 
Frank  Muller,  will  want  to  know  vhat  I  have  been 
about.  ” 

"OraCoetzee,”  said  Jess,  "will  you  do  something  for 
me?  We  are  old  friends,  you  know,  and  I  once  persuaded 
my  uncle  to  lend  you  five  hundred  pounds  when  all  your 
•oxen  died  of  the  lungsick.  ” 

"Yes,  yes,  it  shall  be  paid  back  one  day— when  we 
have  got  the  damned  Englishmen  out  of  the  country." 
And  ho  began  to  gather  up  his  reins  preparatory  to  riding 
off. 

“  Will  you  do  me  a  favor?"  said  Jess,  catching  the  pony 
by  the  bridle. 

"  What  is  it?  What  is  it,  mi.ssie?  I  must  be  getting  on. 
That  devil  of  a  man,  Frank  Muller,  is  waiting  for  me  with 
the  prisoners  at  the  Rooihuis  Kraal.” 

"1  want  a  pass  for  myself  and  Captain  Niel,  and  an 
escort.  We  want  to  get  down  home." 

The  old  Boer  held  up  his  fat  hands  in  amazement. 

"Almighty!"  he  said,#  "  it  is  impossible.  A  pass! — who 
ever  heard  of  such  a  thing?  Come,  I  must  be  going." 

"  It  is  not  impossible.  Uncle  Cootzee,  as  you  know,”  said 
Jess.  "Listen!  If  I  get  that  pass  I  will  speak  to  my 
uncle  about  the  five  hundred  pounds.  Perhaps  he  would 
not  ^vant  it  all  back  again.” 

"  Ah !"  said  the  Boer.  "  Well,  we  are  old  friends,  rni.ssie, 
and  ‘never  desert  a  friend,’  that  is  my  saying.  Almighty! 
I  will  ride  a  hundred  miles — I  will  swim  through  blood  for 
a  friend.  Well,  well,  I  will  see.  It  w  ill  depend  ui^on  that 
devil  of  a  man,  Frank  Muller.  Where  are  you  to  bo 
found— in  that  white  house  yonder?  Good;  to-morrow 
the  escoi-t  will  come  in  with  the  prisoners,  and  if  I  can 
get  it  they  will  bring  the  pass.  But,  missie,  remember  the 
five  hundred  pounds.  If  you  do  not  speak  to  your  uncle 
about  that  I  shall  be  even  with  him.  Almighty!  what  a 
thing  it  is  to  have  a  good  heart,  and  to  love  to  help  your 
friends.  Well,  good-day,  good-day,"  and  oil  lie  cantered 
on  his  fat  pony,  his  broad  face  shining  '  look  of  un¬ 

utterable  benevolence. 


130 


7  Q 
J  i  .>>o. 


Jess  cast  a  look  'f  contempt  ailor  liim. 


iL-j  iiiiii,  aiid  tbcii  went  ots 
toward  the  camp  to  fetch  tlie  rations. 

When  she  got  back  to  the  ralatial  slie  told  John  what 
had  taken  place,  and  suggested  that  it  would  be  as  well,  in 
ease  there  should  be  a  favorable  rejily  to  her  request,  to 
have  everything  prepared  for  a  start;  and  accordingly, 
the  cart  was  brought  down  and  stood  outside  the  Palatial, 
and  John  unscrewed  the  pateiit  caps  and  filled  them  with 
castor-oil,  and  ordered  Monti  to  keep  the  horses,  which 
were  all  vmll,  though  “poor”  from  want  of  proper  food, 
well  within  hail. 

Meanwhile,  old  Hans  xjursued  the  jerky  tenor  of  his 
way  for  an  hour  or  so,  till  he  came  in  sight  of  a  small  red 
hoilse. 


Presently,  from  the  shadow  in  front  of  the  red  house 
emerged  a  horseman,  mounted  on  a  powerful  black  horse. 
The  horseman— a  stern,  handsome  bearded  man— put  his 
hand  above  his  eyes  to  shade  them  from  the  sun.  and 
gazed  up  the  road.  Then  he  seemed  to  suddenly  strike 
his  spui’s  into  the  horse,  for  ttie  animal  gave  a  sudden 
bound  forward,  and  came  sweeping  toward  Ilans  at  a 
hand -gallop. 

“Ah!  it  is  that  devil  of  a  man,  Frank  Muller!”  ejacu¬ 
lated  Hans.  “  Now  I  wonder  what  he  wants?  I  always 
feel  cold  down  the  back  when  he  comes  near  me.” 

By  this  time  the  plunging  black  horse  was  being  i-eiiied 
up  alongside  of  his  pony  so  sharply  that  it  reared  till  its 
great  hoofs  were  pawing  the  air  within  a  few  inches  of 
Hans'  head. 

“  Almighty!”  said  the  old  man,  tugging  his  pony  round. 
“Be  careful,  nephew,  be  careful!  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
cruslied  like  a  beetle.  ” 

Frank  Muller — for  it  was  he— smiled.  He  had  made 
his  horse  rear  purposely,  in  order  to  fz'ighten  the  old  man, 
whom  he  knew  to  be  an  arrant  coward. 

“  Why  have  you  been  so  long?  and  what  have  you  done 
with  the  Englishmen?  You  should  have  been  back  lialfan 
hour  ago.” 

“  And  so  I  should,  nephew,  and  so  I  should,  if  I  had  not 
been  detained.  Surely  you  do  not  suppose  that  I  would 
linger  in  the  acczu’sed  place?  Bah!”  and  he  spat  upon  the 
ground,  “  it  stinks  of  Englishmen.  I  cannot  get  the  taste 
of  them  out  of  my  mouth.” 

“You  are  a  liar,  Uncle  Coetzee,”  was  the  cool  answer. 
“English  with  the  English,  Boer  with  the  Boer.  Yon  blow 
neither  hot  nor  cold.  ,  Bo  careful  lest  we  show  you  ux).  I 
know  you  and  your  talk.  Do  you  remember  what  you 
were  saying  to  the  Englishman  Kiel  in  the  inr  ynrd  at 
Wakkerstroom  when  you  turned  and  saw  me?  ird, 


JESS. 


-131 

c«iirl  1  forget.  You  know  what  happens  to  a  ‘land 

betrayer?’  ” 

Kans’  teeth  positively  chattered,  and  his  florid  face 
blanched  with  fear. 

“  What  do  you  mean,  nephew?”  he  asked. 

”  I— ah! — I  mean  nothing.  I  wms  only  speaking  a  word 
of  warning  to  you  as  a  friend.  I  have  heard  things  said 

about  you  by - ”  and  he  dropped  his  voice  and  whispered 

a  name,  at  the  sound  of  which  poor  Hans  turned  'whiter 
than  ever. 

“Well,”  wmot  on  his  tormentor,  when  he  had  sufficiently 
enjoyed  his  terror,  ”  what  sort  of  terms  did  you  make  in 
Pretoria?” 

‘‘Oh,  good,  nephew,  good,”  he  gabbled,  delighted  to  get 
on  to  a  fre.sh  subject.  “I  found  the  Englishmen  supple  as: 
a  tanned  skin.  They  will  give  up  their  twelve  prisoners 
for  our  four.  The  men  are  to  be  in  by  ten  to-morrow.  I 
told  their  commandant  about  Laing’s  Nek  and  Ingogo,  and 
he  would  not  believe  me.  He  thought  I  lied  like  himself. 
They  are  getting  hungry  there  now.  I  saw  a  Hottentot  I 
knew  there,  and  he  told  me  that  their  bones  were  begin¬ 
ning  to  show.” 

‘‘They^  will  be  through  the  skin  before  long,”  muttered 
Franlc.  ‘‘Well,  here  we  are  at  the  house.  The  gone.val 
is  there.  He  has  just  come  up  from  Heidelberg,  and  you 
can  make  your  report  to  him.  Did  you  find  out  about 
the  Englishman— Captain  Niel?  Is  it  true  that  he  is 
dea<l?” 

‘‘No,  he  is  not  dead.  By  the  way,  I  met  Om  Croft’s 
niece— the  dark  one.  She  is  shut  up  there  with  the  captain, 
and  she  begged  me  to  try  and  get  them  a  pass  to  go  home. 
Of  course  I  told  her  that  it  was  nonsense,  and  that  they 
must  stop  and  starve  with  the  others.” 

Muller,  who  had  been  listening  to  this  last  piece  of  in¬ 
formation  with  intense  interest,  suddenly  checked  liis 
horse  and  answered : 

‘‘  Did  you?  Then  y!"ou  are  a  bigger  fool  than  I  thought 
you.  Who  gave  you  authority  to  decide  whether  they 
should  have  a  pass  or  not?” 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  GREAT  MAN. 

CoTtIPLETELY  overcome  by  this  last  remark,  Hans  col¬ 
lapsed  like  a  jelly-fish  out  of  water,  and  reflected  in  his 
worthless  old  heart  that  Frank  Muller  was  indeed  a  de'vnl 
of  a  man.”  By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  door  of  tne 
little  house,  and  were  dismounting,  and  in  auotlier  minute 


132  ^ 


JESS. 


Hans  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  one  of  the  leadeiS 
of  the  rebellion. 

He  was  a  short,  ugly  man  of  about  fifty-five,  with  a  big 
nose,  small  eyes,  straight  hair,  and  a  stoop.  The  forehead, 
however,  was  good,  and  the  whole  face  betrayed  a  keen¬ 
ness  and  ability  far  bejmnd  the  average.  The  great  man 
was  seated  at  a  plain  deal  table,  writing  something  with 
evident  difficulty  upon  a  dirty  sheet  of  paper,  and  smoking 
a  very  large  pipe. 

‘‘Sit,  Heeren,  sit,”  he  said,  when  they  entered,  w’aving 
the  stem  of  his  pipe  toward  a  deal  bench.  Accordingly 
they  sat  down  without  even  removing  their  hats,  and  pull¬ 
ing  out  their  pipes,  proceeded  to  light  them. 

“How,  in  the  name  of  God,  do  you  spell  ‘Excellency?’  ” 
asked  the  general,  presently.  "  I  have  spelt  it  in  four  dif¬ 
ferent  ways,  and  each  one  looks  worse  than  the  last.” 

Frank  Muller  gave  the  required  information.  Hans  in 
his  heart  thought  he  spelt  it  wrong,  but  he  did  not  dare  to 
say  so.  Then  came  another  pause,  only  interrupted  by  the 
slow  scratching  of  a  quill  across  the  dirty  paper,  during 
which  Hans  nearly  Avent  to  sleep  ;  for  the  weather  was  very 
hot,  and  he  was  tired  Aviih  his  ride. 

“There!”  said  the  writer,  presently,  gazing  at  his  hand¬ 
writing  with  an  almost  childish  air  of  satisfaction,  “that 
is  done.  A  curse  on  the  man  who  invented  writing!  Our 
fathers  did  very  well  without  it;  why  should  not  Ave? 
Though,  to  bo  sure,  it  is  useful  for  treaties  with  theKafii’s. 
T  don’t  believe  you  have  told  me  right  now  about  that 
*  Excellency',’ nephew.  Well,  it  will  have  to  serve.  When 
a  man  writes  such  a  letter  as  that  to  the  representative  of 
the  English  Queen  he  needn’t  mind  his  spelling;  it  will  be 
swallowed  with  the  rest,”  and  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
and  laughed  softly. 

“Well,  Meinheer  Coetzee,  Avhat  is  it?  Ah,  I  know;  the 
prisoners.  Well,  what  did  you  do?” 

Hans  told  his  story,  and  was  rambling  on  when  the  gen¬ 
eral  cut  him  short. 

“So,  cousin,  so!  You  talk  like  an  ox-w^on — rumble 
and  creak  and  jolt,  a  devil  of  a  noise  and  turning  of  wheels, 
but  very  little  progress.  They  will  give  up  the  twelve  men 
for  our  four,  will  they?  Well,  that  is  about  a  fair  propor¬ 
tion.  No,  it  is  not,  though;  four  Boers  are  better  than 
twelve  Englishmen  any  day— ay,  better  than  forty!”  and 
he  laughed  again.  “  Well,  the  men  shall  be  sent  in  as  you 
arranged;  ihe.v  Avill  help  to  eat  up  their  last  biscuits. 
Good-day,  cousin.  Stop,  though,  one  word  before  ymu  go. 
I  have  heard  about  you  at  times,  oousin.  I  have  heard  it 
said  that  ymu  cannot  be  trusted.  Now,  I  don’t  know  if 


It  myself.  Only,  listen;  if  it 


JESS. 


133 


eftould  bo  80,  and  I  should  find  you  out,  by  God !  I  will 
have  you  cut  into  riinpis  with  afterox  sjanibocks,  and  then 
ehoot  you  and  send  in  your  carcase  as  a  present  to  the  En¬ 
glish,  ”  and  as  he  said  it  he  leaned  forward,  brought  down 
his  fist  upon  the  deal  table  with  a  bang  that  produced  a 
most  unpleasant  elfect  upon  poor  Hans’  nerves,  and  a  cold 
gleam  of  sudden  ferocity  flickered  in  the  small  eyes,  very 
discomforting  for  a  timid  man  to  behold,  however  innocent 
he  knew  himself  to  be. 

“  I  swear - ”  he  began  to  babble, 

“  Swear  not  at  all,  cousin ;  you  are  an  elder  of  the  church. 
There  is  no  need  to,  besides.  I  told  you  I  did  not  believe 
it  of  you;  only  I  have  had  one  or  two  cases  of  this  sort  of 
thing  lately.  No,  never  mind  who  they  were.  You  will 
not  meet  them  about  again.  Good-day,  cousin,  good-day. 
Forget  not  to  thank  the  Almighty  God  for  our  glorious  vic¬ 
tories.  He  will  expect  it  from  an  elder  of  the  church.” 

Poor  Hans  departed  crestfallen,  feeling  that  the  days  of 
him  who  tries,  however  skillfully  and  impartially,  to  sit 
upon  two  stools  at  once  are  not  happy  days,  and  sometimes 
threaten  to  be  short  ones.  And  supposing  that  the  English¬ 
men  should  win  after  all — as  in  his  heart  he  hoped  they 
might— how  should  he  then  prove  that  he  had  hoped  it? 
The  general  watched  him  waddle  through  the  door  from 
under  his  pent  brows,  a  half-humorous,  half-menacing  ex¬ 
pression  on  his  face. 

”  A  windbag;  a  coward;  a  man  without  a  heart  for  good 
or  for  evil.  Pah !  nephew,  that  is  Hans  Coetzee.  I  have 
known  him  for  years.  Well,  let  him  go.  He  would  sell 
us  if  he  could,  but  I  have  frightened  him  now,  and,  what 
is  more,  if  I  see  reason,  he  shall  find  I  never  bark  unless  I 
mean  to  bite.  Well,  enough  of  him.  Let  me  see,  have  I 
thanked  you  yet  for  your  shai’e  in  Majuba?  Ah!  that  was 
a  glorious  victory !  How  many  were  there  of  you  when 
you  started  up  the  mountain?” 

“Eighty  men.” 

“  And  how  many  at  the  end?” 

'  Due  hundred  and  seventy — perhaps  a  few  more.” 

And  how  many  of  you  were  hit?” 

'“Three — one  killed,  two  wounded,  and  a  few  scratches. ” 

“  Wonderful,  wonderful!  It  was  a  brave  deed,  and  be¬ 
cause  it  was  so  brave  it  was  successful.  He  must  have 
been  mad,  that  English  general.  Who  shot  him?” 

“  Breytenbach.  Colley  held  up  a  white  handkerchief  m 
his  hand,  and  Breytenbach  fired,  and  down  went  the  gen¬ 
eral  all  of  a  heap,  and  then  they  all  ran  helter  skel  ter  (^wn 
the  hill.  Yes,  it  was  a  wonderful  thing!  They  could  have 
eat  us  back  with  their  left  hand.  That  is  what  comes  oi 

ving  a  righteous  cause,  uncle. 


134 


JESS. 


The  general  smiled  grimly.  “That  is  what  comes  of 
having  men  who  can  shoot,  and  who  Tinderstand  the  coun¬ 
try,  and  are  not  afraid.  Weil,  it  is  done,  and  well  done. 
The  stars  in  their  courses  have  fought  for  us,  Frank  Mul¬ 
ler,  and  so  far  we  have  conquered.  But  how  is  it  to  en/i? 
You  are  no  fool;  tell  mo,  how  wull  it  end?” 

Frank  Muller  rose  and  walked  twice  up  and  down  the 
room  before  ho  answered.  “Shall  I  tell  you,”  he  asked, 
and  then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  went  on:  “It 
will  end  in  our  getting  the  country  back.  That  is  what 
this  armistice  means.  There  are  thousands  of  rooibaatjos 
there  at  the  Nek;  they  cannot  therefore  be  waiting  for  sol¬ 
diers.  They  are  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  yield,  uncle. 
We  shall  get  the  country  back,  and  you  shall  be  president 
of  the  Republic.” 

The  oid  man  took  a  pull  at  his  pipe.  “  You  have  along 
head,  Frank,  and  it  has  not  run  away  with  you.  The  En¬ 
glish  Government  is  going  to  give  in.  The  stars  in  their 
courses  continue  to  fight  for  us.  The  English  Government 
is  as  mad  as  its  officers.  They  will  give  in.  But  it  means 
more  than  that,  Frank;  I  will  tell  you  what  it  means.  It 
means  ”  -aiid  again  he  let  his  heavy  hand  fall  upon  the 
deal  table— “  the  triumph  of  the  Boer  throughout  South 
Africa.  Bah!  Burgers  was  not  such  a  fool  after  all  when 
he  talked  of  his  great  Dutch  Republic.  I  have  been  twice 
to  England  now,  and  I  know  the  Englishman.  I  could 
measure  him  for  his  veldtschoens  [shoes].  He  kno^vs 
nothing— nothing.  He  understands  his  shop;  he  is  buried 
in  his  shop,  and  can  tiunk  of  nothing  else.  Sometimes  he 
goes  away  and  starts  his  shop  in  other  places,  and  buries 
himself  in  it,  and  makes  it  a  big  shop,  becamso  he  under¬ 
stands  shops.  But  it  is  all  a  question  of  shops,  and  if  the 
shops  abroad  interfere  w  ith  the  shops  at  home,  or  if  it  ts 
thought  that  they  do,  w^hich  comes  to  the  same  thing,  then 
the  shops  at  home  put  an  end  to  the  shops  abroad.  Bah! 
they  talk  a  great  deal  there  in  England,  but,  at  the  bottom 
of  it,  it  is  shop,  shop,  shop.  They  talk  of  honor,  and  pa¬ 
triotism  too,  but  they  both  give  way  to  the  shop.  And  I 
tell  you  this,  Frank  Muller;  it  is  the  shop  that  has  made 
the  English,  and  it  is  the  shop  that  will  destroy  them. 
Well,  so  be  it.  We  shall  have  our  slice:  Africa  for  the 
Africanders.  The  Transvaal  for  the  Trans vaalers  first, 
then  the  rest.  Shepstone  was  a  clever  man;  he  would  have 
made  it  all  into  an  English  shop,  with  the  black  men  for 
shop  hoys.  We  have  changed  all  that,  but  we  ought  to  be 
gratefuT  to  Shepstone.  The  English  have  paid  our  debts. 
t!ii'-  have  eaten  up  the  Zulus,  who  would  otherwise  have 
de-  "  .  m -j;  and  they  have  let  us  beat  theiu,%  now  w® 


JESS. 


135 


are  going  to  have  onr  turn  again,  and,  Uo  you  c.y,  I  shall 
be  the  first  president.” 

‘‘Yes,  uncle.”  replied  the  younger  man  ralruly,  ‘‘and  I 
shall  be  the  second.” 

The  great  man  looked  at  liirn.  ‘‘  You  are  a  bold  man.” 
he  said;  ”  but  boldness  makes  the  man  ajut  the  comitry. 
I  dare  say  you  will.  You  have  the  head  ;  and  one  clear 
head  can  turn  many  fools,  as  the  rudder  does  the  sliip,  and 
guide  them  wheji  they  are  turned.  I  dare  say  that  you 
will  be  president  one  (iay.” 

‘‘Yes,  I  shall  be  pr(':nd,out,  and  v.  hen  I  airi  Twill  drive 
the  Englishmen  out  of  South  Africa.  This  1  wiil  do  with 
the  help  of  the  Natal  Zulus.  Then  I  will  destroy  the 
natives,  as  T’Cbaka  destroyed,  keeping  oniy  enough  for 
slaves.  That  is  my  platt,  undo;  it  is  a  good  one.” 

“It  is  a  big  one;  I  am  not  certain  that  it  is  a  good  one. 
But  good  or  bad,  who  shall. say?  You  ma^'  carry  it  out, 
nephew,  if  you  live.  A  man  with  brains  and  wealth  may 
carry  out  anything  if  he  lives.  But  there  is  a  God.  I  be¬ 
lieve,  Frank  Muller,  that  there  is  a  God,  and  I  believe  that 
God  sets  a  limit  to  a  man’s  doings.  It'  he  iv,  going  too  far, 
God  kills  him.  If  you  Frank  Muller,  you  will  do 
these  things,  but  perhaps  God  wiil  kill  you.  Who  can 
say?  You  will  do  what  God  wills,  not  what  you  will.” 

•  The  elder  man  was  speaking  seriously  now.  Muller  felt 
that  this  was  none  of  the  whining  cant  people  in  authoj’ity 
among  the  Boers  find  it  desirable  to  adopt.  It  was  what 
he  thought,  and  it  chilled  Muller  iu  spite  of  liis  pretended 
skepticism,  as  the  sincere  belief  of  an  intellectual  man, 
however  opposite  to  our  own,  is  apt  to  chill  us  iiito  doubt 
of  ourselves  and  our  opinions.  For  a  moment  his  slumber¬ 
ing  superstition  awoke,  and  lie  felt  half  afraid.  Between 
him  and  that  bright  future  of  blood  and  power  lay  a  ehill 
gulf.  Suppose  that  gulf  should  be  death,  aiul  the  future 
nothing  but  a  dream --or  worse!  Ilis  face  fell  as  the  idea 
occurred  to  him,  and  the  general  noticed  it. 

“Well,”  he  went  on,  “he  who  lives  v. ill  see.  Mean- 
v.diile  you  have  done  good  service  to  the  state,  and  you. 
shall  have  your  reward,  cousin.  If  I  am  president  ’’—he 
laid  emphasis  on  this,  the  meatiing  of  whicli  his  listener 
did  not  miss — “  if  by  the  support  of  my  follov.-ers  I  bcconie 
president,  I  will  not  forget  you.  And  now  I  nuist  up-sad¬ 
dle  and  get  back.  I  want  to  be  at  Laing’s  Isek  in  sixty 
hours,  to  wait  for  General  AVood’s  answer.  \ou  will  see 
about  ihe  vsending  in  of  those  prisoners;’"  and  lie  knocked 

out  Ids  pipe  and  rose.  _  ,  ,  i 

“By  the  way,  raeinhcer,”  said  Muller,  snc.d;  n . r.(iopt- 
ing  a  tone  of  respect,  “  I  have  a  favor  to  as;-' 

“What  V  it,  nephew?” 


188 


JESS. 


“  I  want  a  pass  for  two  friends  of  mine — English  people 
— in  Pretoria,  to  go  down  to  their  relations  in  Wakker- 
stroom  district.  They  sent  a  message  to  me  by  Hans 
Coetzee.  ’  ’ 

“I  don’t  like  giving  passes,”  answered  the  general,  with 
some  irritation.  “You  Icnow  what  it  means,  letting  out 
messengers.  I  wonder  you  ask  me.” 

“  It  is  a  small  favor,  meinhoer.  and  I  do  not  think  that 
it  Avill  much  matter.  Pretoria  will  not  be  besieged  much 
longer.  I  am  under  an  obligation  to  the  people.” 

“  Well,  well,  as  you  like;  but,  if  any  harm  comes  of  it, 
you  will  be  held  responsible.  Write  the  pass;  I  will  sign 
it.” 

Frank  Muller  sat  down  and  wrote  and  dated  the  paper. 
Its  contents  were  simple:  “  Pass  the  bearers  unharmed.” 

“That  is  big  enough  to  drive  a  wagon  along,”  said  the 
genei*al.  when  it  was  handed  to  him  to  sign,  “It  might 
mean  all  Pretoria.  ’  ’ 

“  I  am  not  certain  if  there  are  two  or  three  of  them,” 
answered  Muller,  carelessly. 

“Well,  well,  you  are  responsible.  Give  me  the  pen;” 
and  he  scrawled  his  big,  coarse  signature  at  the  foot. 

“I  propose,  with  your  permission,  to  escort  the  cart 
down  with  two  other  men.  As  you  are  aware,  I  go  dovvn 
to  lake  over  the  command  of  the  Wakkerstroom  district 
to-morrow.” 

“  Very  good.  It  is  your  affair;  you  are  responsible.  I 
shall  ask  no  questions,  provided  your  friends  do  no  hurt 
to  the  cause;”  and  he  left  the  room  without  another  word. 

When  the  great  man  had  gone,  Frank  Muller  sat  down 
again  on  the  bench  and  looked  at  the  pass,  and  communed 
with  himself,  for  he  was  far  too  wise  a  man  to  commune 
with  any^body  else.  “  The  Lord  hath  delivered  mine 
enemy  into  mine  hand,”  he  said,  with  a  smile,  and  stroked 
his  golden  beard.  “  Well,  well,  I  will  not  waste  His 
merciful  opportunities  as  I  did  that  day  out  buck-shooting. 
And  then  for  Bessie.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  kill  the  old 
man  too.  I  am  sorry  for  that,  but  it  can’t  be  helped ;  be¬ 
sides,  if  anything  sliould  happen  to  Jess,  Bessie  will  take 
Mooifontein,  and  that  is  worth  having.  Not  that  I  want 
more  land;  I  have  enough.  Yes,  I  will  marry  her.  It 
would  serve  her  right  if  I  didn’t;  but,  after  all,  marriage 
is  more  respectable,  and  also  one  has  more  hold  of  a  wife. 
Nobody  will  interfere  for  her.  Then,  she  will  be  •£  use  to 
me  by  and  by,  for  a  beautiful  woman  is  a  power  even 
among  these  fellow-countrymen  of  mine,  if  only  a  man 
knows  how  to  bait  his  lines  with  her.  Yes,  I  shall  marry 
her.  Bah!  that  is  the  way  to  win  a  woman —by  capture; 
and,  whn.t,  is  more,  they  like  it.  It  makes  her  worth 


JESS. 


.:n 

winning  too.  It  will  bo  n,  courtship  of  bioo'h  Well,  llio 
kisses  will  be  the  sweeter,  and  in  the  end  she  will  love  ine 
the  Tuore  for  what  I  have  dai-ed  for  her.  So,  Frank  Muller, 
so! 

“  Ten  years  ago  you  said  to  yourself:  ‘  Thei'e  are  thi-ee 
Ihings  worth  having  in  the  world  —first,  wealth;  secondly, 
women,  if  they  take  your  fancy,  or,  better  still,  .one 
woman,  if  you  desire  her  above  all  others;  thirdly,  power.’ 
Kow,  you  have  got  the  wealth,,  for  one  way  and  another 
you  are  the  richest  man  in  the  Transvaal.  In  a  week’s 
time  you  wdll  have  the  woman  you  love,  and  who  is 
sweeter  to  you  thnin  all  the  world  besides.  In  five  years’ 
time  you  will  have  the  power— absolute  power.  That  old 
man  is  clever ;  he  will  be  president.  Exit  I  am  cleverer.  I 
shall  soon  take  his  seat,  thus” — and  ho  rose  and  seated 
himself  in  the  general’s  chair— ”  and  he  will  go  dowrxastep 
and  take  mine.  Ay,  and  then  I  will  reign.  My  tongue 
shall  be  honey  and  my  hand  iron.  I  will  pass  over  the 
land  like  a  storm.  I  will  drive  the  English  out  with  the 
help  of  the  Kafirs,  and  then  I  Avill  kill  the  Kafirs  and 
take  their  land.  Ah!” — and  his  eyes  flashed  and  his  nos¬ 
trils  dilated  as  he  said  it  to  himself— ”  then  life  will  be 
worth  living!  What  a.  thing  is  poAver!  What  a  thing  it 

to  be  able  to  destroy!  Take  that  Englishman,  my  rival; 
to  day  he  is  wmll  and  strong;  in  three  days  he  Avill  be  gone 
utterly,  and  I — I  shall  have  sent  him  axvay.  That  is 
power.  But  Avhen  the  time  comes  that  I  have  only  to 
stretch  out  my  hand  to  send  thousands  after  him !— that 
will  be  absolute  power;  and  then  AAUth  Bessie  I  shall  be 
happy!” 

And  so  he  dreamed  on  for  an  hour  or  more,  till  at  last 
the  fumes  of  his  untutored  imagination  actually  drowned 
his  reason  in  spiritual  intoxication.  Picture  after  picture 
rose  and  unrolled  itself  before  his  mind’s  eye.  He  satv 
himself  as  president  addressing  the  Volksraad,  and  com¬ 
pelling  it  to  his  will.  lie  saw  himself,  the  supreme  general 
of  a  great  host,  defeating  the  forces  of  England  Avith  aAvfuI 
carnage,  and  driving  them  before  him;  ay,  he  even  so 
lected  the  battle-ground  on  the  slopes  of  the  Biggarsberg 
in  Natal.  Then  he  saAV  himself  again,  sweeping  the  na¬ 
tives  out  of  South  Africa  Avith  the  unrelenting  besom  of  his 
might,  and  ruling  unquestioned  over  a  submissiA^e  people. 
And,  last  of  ail,  he  saw  something  glittering  at  his  feet  it 
Avasacrown!  ... 

This  Avas  the  climax  of  his  intoxication.  Then 
cams  an  anticlimax.  The  rich  imagination  which  had 
been  leading  him  on  as  a  gaudy  butterfly  docs  a  Cxinu,  sud¬ 
denly  changed  color  and  dropped  to  earth;  and  then  rose 
up  ill  his  mind  the  memoiy  of  the  genei-al’s  wmrds;  ‘  uoa 


188  JESS. 

sets  a  limit  to  a  man’s  doings.  If  lie  is  going  too  far,  God 
kills  him." 

The  butterfij'  had  settled  on  a  coffin! 


CHAPTER  XXL 

JESS  GETS  A  PASS. 

About  half  past  ten  on  the  morning  following  her  inter¬ 
view  with  Hans  Coetzee,  Jess  was  at  the  Palatial  a-s 
usual,  and  John  was  Just  finishing  packing  the  cart  ^vith 
such  few  goods  as  they  possessed.  There  was  not  much 
chance  of  its  being  of  any  material  use,  for  he  did  not  in 
the  slightest  degree  expect  that  they  would  get  the  pass; 
but,  as  he  cheerfully  said,  it  was  as  good  an  amusement  as 
any  other. 

“  I  say,  Je,ss.”  he  sang  out  presently,  “come  here.” 

“What  for?”  answered  Jess,- who  was  seated  on  the 
doorstep  mending  something,  and  looking  at  her  favorite 
view. 

“  Because  I  want  to  speak  to  you.” 

She  got  up  and  went,  feeling  rather  angry  with  herself 
for  going. 

“  Well,”  she  said  tartly,  “here  I  am.  What  is  it?” 

“1  have  finished  packing  the  cart,  that’s  all.” 

“  And  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have  brought  me. 
round  here  to  say  that?” 

“Yes,  of  course  I  have;  exercise  is  good  for  the  young.” 
And  then  he  laughed,  and  she  laughed  too. 

It  was  all  nothing — nothing  at  all — b\it  somehow  it  was 
very  delightful.  Certainly  mutual  affection,  even  when 
unexpressed,  has  a  way  of  making  things  go  happily,  and 
can  find  something  to  laugh  at  anywhere. 

Just  then,  Avho  should  come  up  but  Mrs.  Neville,  in  a 
great  state  of  excitement,  and,  as  usual,  fanning  herself 
with  her  hat. 

“What  do  you  think.  Captain  Niel?  the  prisoners  have 
come  in,  and  I  heard  one  of  the  Boers  in  charge  say  that 
he  had  a  pass  signed  by  the  Boer  general  for  some  English 
people,  and  that  he  was  coming  over  to  see  a,bout  them 
presently.  Who  can  it  be?” 

“  It  is  us,”  said  Jess  quickly.  “  We  are  going  home.  I 
saw  Hans  Coetzee  yesterday,  and  begged  him  to  iry  and 
get  us  a  pass,  and  I  suppose  he  has.  ’  ’ 

“  My  word!  going  to  get  out:  well,  you  are  lucky!  Let 
me  sit  down  and  write  a  letter  to  my  great-uncle  at  the 
Cape.  You  mtist  post  it  when  you  can.  He  is  niTiety- 
four,  and  rather  soft,  but  I  dare  say  he  wall  like  to  hear 
from  me,”  and  she  bundled  off  into  the  house  to  give  nor 
aged  relative  (v.^ho,  by  the  way,  labored  under  the  imprea* 


JESS. 


139 


eion  that  she  was  still  a  little  girl  ef  four  years  oi  age)  as 
minute  an  account  of  the  siege  of  Pretoria  as  time  would 
allow. 

“  Well,  John,  you  had  better  tell  Mouti  to  put  the  horses 
in.  We  shall  have  to  start  presently,”  said  Jess. 

”  Ay,”  he  said,  pulling  his  beard’ thoughtfully,  “I  sup¬ 
pose  that  we  shall;”  adding,  by  way  of  an  afterthought, 
”  Are  you  glad  to  go?” 

“No,”  she  said,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  passion  and  a 
stamp  of  the  foot,  and  then  turned  and  entered  the  house 
again. 

“Mouti.”  said  John  to  the  Zulu,  who  was  lounging 
around  in  a  way  characteristic  of  that  intelligent  but  un- 
industrious  race,  “  inspan  the  horses.  We  are  going  back 
to  Mooifontein.” 

“Koos”  [chierj,  said  the  Zulu  unconcernedly,  and 
started  on  the  errand  as  though  it  wei’e  the  most  everyday 
occurrence  to  drive  ofi;  home  out  of  a  closely  beleaguered 
town.  That  is  another  beauty  of  the  Zulu  race;  you  can¬ 
not  astonish  them.  They,  no  doubt,  consider  that  that,  to 
them,  extraordinary  mixture  of  wisdom  and  insanity,  the 
while  man,  is,  as  the  agnostic  French  critic  said  in  despair 
of  the  prophet  Zerubbabel,  '‘capable  de  tout.''' 

John  stood  and  watched  the  inspanning  absently.  The 
fact  was  that  he,  too,  was  conscious  of  a  sensation  of  re¬ 
gret.  He  felt  ashamed  of  himself  for  it,  but  there  it  was; 
he  wai?  sorry  to  leave  tlie  place.  For  the  last  week  or  so 
he  had  been  living  in  a  dream,  and  every  thiiig  outside  that 
dream  was  blurred  and  indistinct  as  a  landscape  in  a  fog. 
He  knew  the  things  were  thei’e,  but  he  did  not  quite  ap¬ 
preciate  their  relative  size  and  position.  The  only  real 
thing  was  his  dream ;  all  else  was  as  vague  as  tho.-  o  fay- 
olf  ])ooplo  and  events  that  we  lose  in  infancy  and  find  again 
in  old  age. 

And  now  there  woidd  bo  an  end  of  dreaming;  the  fog 
would  lift,  and  he  must  face  the  facts.  Jess,  with  whom 
he  had  dreamed,  wmuld  go  away  to  Europe  and  he  would 
marry  Bessie,  and  all  tliis  Pretoria  business  would  glide 
away  into  the  past  like  a  watch  in  the  night.  Well,  it 
mtist  be  so ;  it  v/as  right  and  proper  that  it  should  be  so, 
and  he  for  one  was  not  going  to  flinch  from  his  duty;  but 
he  w'ould  have  been  more  than  human  had  he  not  felt 
the  pang  of  awakening.  It  \vas  all  so  very  unfortunate. 

By  this  time  Mouti  had  got  the  horses  up,  and  asked  if 

he  was  to  inspan.  ^  •  n 

“No;  wait  a  bit,”  said  John.  “  Very  likely  it  is  ail 

rot,”  he  added  to  himself. 

Bcarcelv  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth  when  he 
caught  sight  of  twv>  armed  Boers  of  a  peculiarly  unpieas- 


140 


JESS. 


ant  type  and  roiy^h  appearance  riding  across  the  veidt 
toward  the  Palatial  gate,  escorted  by  four  carbineers.  At 
the  gate  they  stopped,  and  one  of  them  dismounted  and 
came  up  to  where  he  was  standing  by  the  stable  door. 

“Captain  Niel?”  he  said  interrogatively,  in  English. 

“That  is  my  name.” 

“Then  here  is  a  letter  for  you and  he  handed  him  a 
folded  paper. 

John  opened,  it — it  bad  no  envelope — and  read  as  fol¬ 
lows  ; 

“Sir. — The  bearer  of  this  has  with  him  a  pa.s8  which  it  is 
understood  that  you  desire,  giving  you  and  Miss  Jess  Croft 
a  safe-conduct  to  Mooifontein.  in  ihe  Wakker.stroom  dis¬ 
trict  of  the  republic.  The  only  condition  attached  to  the 
pass,  which  is  signed  by  one  of  the  honorable  triumvirate, 
IS  that  you  must  carry  no  dispatches  out  of  Pretoria. 
Upon  your  giving  your  Avoi'd  of  lionor  to  the  bearer  that 
you  will  not  do  this  he  will  hand  you  the  pass.” 

This  letter,  which  was  fairly  written  and  in  good  En¬ 
glish,  had  no  signature. 

“Who  wrote  this?”  a.sked  John  of  the  Boer. 

“  That  is  no  affair  of  yours,”  was  the  curt  reply.  “  Will 
you  pass  your  word  about  the  dispatches?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.  Here  is  the  pass;”  and  he  handed  over  that 
document  to  John.  It  was  in  the  .same  handwriting  as  the 
letter,  but  signed  by  the  Boer  general. 

John  examined  it,  and  then  called  to  Joss  to  come  and 
translate  it.  She  was  on  her  way  round  the  corner  of  the 
hou.se  as  he  did  so.  having  heard  the  voice  of  the  Boer. 

“It  means,  ‘Pass  the  bearers  unarnted,’  ”  she  said, 
“  and  the  signature  is  correct.  I  have  seen  the  general’s 
signature  before.” 

“  When  must  we  start?”  asked  John. 

“  At  once,  or  not  at  all.” 

“  I  must  drive  round  by  the  headquarter  camp  to  explain 
about  my  going.  They  will  think  that  I  have  run  away.” 

To  this  the  Boer  demurred,  but  tinally,  after  going  to  the 

fate  to  consult  his  companion,  consented,  and  the  two  rode 
ack  to  the  headquarter  camp,  saying  that  the}'  would 
wait  for  the  cart  there,  whereupon  the  horses  were  in- 
spanned. 

In  five  minutes  everything  was  ready,  and  the  cart  wa.s 
standing  in  the  roadway  in  front  of  the  little  gate.  After 
he  had  looked  to  all  the  straps  and  buckles,  ai'd  seen  that 
eveiu’thing  was  properly  packed,  John  went  to  call  Jess. 
He  found  her  standing  by  the  doorsteps,  looking  out  at  her 
favorite  view.  Her  hand  was  placed  sideways  against  her 


JESS. 


141 


forehead,  as  though  to  shade  her  eyes  from  the  sun.  But 
wliere  she  was  standing  there  was  no  sun,  and  John  could 
nor  help  guessing  why  she  was  shading  her  eyes.  She  was 
crying  at  leaving  the  place  in  that  quiet,  harrowing  sort  of 
w;\y  that  some  women  have;  that  is  to  say,  a  few  big  tears 
were  rolling  down  her  face.  John  felt  a  lump  rise  in  his 
own  throat  at  the  sight,  and  very  naturally  relieved  his 
feelings  in  rough  language. 

"What  the  deuce  are  you  after?’’  he  asked.  “  Are  you 
going  to  keep  the  horses  standing  all  day?” 

Jess  did  not  resent  this.  The  probability  is  that  she 
guessed  its  reason.  And  besides,  it  is  a  melancholy  fact 
that  women  rather  like  being  sworn  at  than  otherwise,  pro¬ 
vided  that  the  swearer  is  the  man  they  are  attached  to. 
But  he  must  only  swear  on  state  occasions.  At  this  mo¬ 
ment,  too,  Mrs.  Neville  came  plunging  out  of  the  liouse, 
licking  an  envelope  as  she  ran. 

‘‘  There,”  she  said,  “I  hope  I  haven’t  kept  you  waiting. 
I  haven’t  told  the  old  gentleman  half  the  news:  in  fact, 
I’ve  only  taken  him  down  to  the  time  when  the  communi¬ 
cations  were  cut,  and  I  dare  say  he  has  seen  all  that  in  the 
papers.  But  he  won’t  understand  anything  about  it,  and 
if  he  does  he  will  gue.ss  the  rest;  besides,  for  all  I  kno\".  he 
may  be  dead  and  buried  by  now.  I  shall  have  to  owe  you 
for  the  stamp.  I  think  it's  threepence.  I’ll  pa,y  youw’beu 
we  meet  again— that  is,  if  we  ever  do  meet  again.  I’m  be¬ 
ginning  to  think  that  this  siege  'will  go  on  for  all  eteimity. 
There,  good-bye,  iny  dear!  God  ble.ss  you!  When  you 
get  out  of  it,  mind  you  write  to  the  Times,  in  London,  you 
know.  There,  don't  cry.  I  am  sure  I  should  not  cry  if  I 
were  going  to  get  out  of  this  place:”  for  at  this  point  Jess 
took  the  opportunity  of  Mi’S.  Neville’s  fervent  embrace  to 
burst  out  into  a  sob  or  two. 

In  another  minute  they  were  in  the  cart,  and  Mouti  was 
sci’ambling  up  behind. 

“Don’t  cry,  old  girl,”  said  John,  laying  his  hand  upon 
her  shoulder.  “  What  can’t  be  cured  must  be  endured. 

“Yes,  John,’’  she  answered,  and  dried  her  tears. 

At  the  headquarter  camp  John  wmnt  in  and  explained 
the  circumstances  of  his  departure.  At  first  the  officer  v.  ho 
was  temporarilj’  in  command— the  commandant  ha\mg 
been  wounded  at  the  same  time  that  John  was-  rather  no 
murred  to  his  going,  especially  w^hen  he  learnt  that  he  had 
passed  his  Avord  not  to  carry  dispatches, 
ever,  he  thought  bettiu’  of  it,  and  said  he  su]iposi  d  ^  ^ 
was  all  right,  as  he  could  not  see  that  their  going  couic,  >,0 


’re.ventlv.  lur 
"  Jiat. 


v- 

it 


the 


garrison 


any  harm;  “rather  the  reA'cr.-e. 


in  fact.  I'O 


cause  vou  can  tell  the  people  how  Aveare  getting  k*'-"’’ 

Ood-fdrsaken  hole.  I  only  wish  th.at  soi:«ebody  woula  gn  o 


143 


JESS. 


ine  a  pass,  that’s  all;’’  Avhere’.spou  John  shoal'  haj:ds  witli 
him  and  left,  to  find  an  eager  crowd  gathered  oatside. 

The  news  of  their  going  had  got  abroad,  and  everybody 
was  running  down  lo  hear  the  truth  of  it.  Such  an  event 
as  a  departure  out  of  Pi-etoria  had  not  happened  for  a 
couple  of  months  and  moi’e,  and  the  excitement  "was  pro- 
porlionate  to  its  novelty. 

“I  say,  Niel,  is  it  true  you  are  going?”  halloed  out  a 
burly  farmer. 

”  How  the  deuce  did  you  get  a  pass?”  put  in  another 
man  Avith  a  face  like  a  wmasel.  He  was  what  is  known  as 
a  "Boer  vernuker ”  (literally,  a  ”  Boer  cheater”),  that  is, 
a  traveliiig  trader  whose  business  it  is  to  beguile  the  sim¬ 
ple-minded  Dutchman,  by  selling  him  worthless  goods  at 
five  times  their  value.  -‘‘I  have  loads  of  friends  among 
the  Boers.  There  is  hardly  a  Boer  in  the  Transvaal  Avho 
does  not  know  me”— (‘‘To  his  cost,”  put  in  a  bystander 
with  a  grunt) — "  and  yet  I  have  tried  all  I  know  ” — ‘‘And 
you  know  a  good  deal,”  said  the  same  rude  man — ‘‘and  1 
can’t  get  a  pass.” 

‘‘You  don’t  suppose  those  poor  Boers  are  going  to  let  you 
out  Avhen  once  they^  have  got  you  in?”  vmnt  on  the  tor¬ 
mentor.  “Why,  man,  it’s  against  human  nature.  You’ve 
got  all  their  wool:  now  do  you  think  they  Avant  you  to 
have  their  skin  too?” 

Y^liereupon  the  Aveasel-faced  individual  gave  a  howl  of 
AAa’a..h,  and  pretended  to  make  a  rush  at  the  author  of 
these  random  gibes,  waiting  half-Avay  for  somebody  to 
stop  him  and  preA'ent  a  breach  of  the  peace. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Croft!”  cried  out  a  woman  in  the  crowd.  Avho, 
like  Jess,  had  been  trapped  in  Pretoria  while  on  a  flying 
visit,  “if  you  can  get  a  lino  down  to  my  husband  at 
Ma.ritzburg,  to  tell  liim  that  I  amAveil,  except  for  Llui  rheu- 
mati.sm,  from  sleeping  on  the  wet  ground;  and  tell  him  to 
kiss  the  tAvius  for  me.” 

“  I  say.  Niel,  tell  those  Boers  that  Ave  Avill  give  them  a, 

d - d  good  hiding  yet,  when  Colley  relieves  us,”  sang  out 

a  jolly  young  Englishman  in  the  uniform  of  the  Pretoria 
Carbii'ieers,  He  little  knew  that  poor  Colley —kind-hearted 
English  gentlemam  that  he  Avas-rAvas  sleeping  peacefully 
under  six  feet  of  ground  with  a  Boer  bullet  through  his 
brain. 

“Noav,  Captain  Niel.  if  you  are  ready,  Ave  must  trek,” 
said  one  of  the  Boers  in  Dutch,  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word  by  catching  the  near  Av’neeler  a  sharp  cut  sv'iCn  hiS 
riding  sjambock  that  made  him  jump  nearly'  out  of  the 
trace:'. 

Away  si  .art  1  horses  with  a  plunge,  scattering  the 


JESS.  143 

\o  tho  riii;ht  and  left,  and,  amid  a  volloy  of  fai-e- 
Weil.-;,  liiey  wore  off  upon  their  homeward  journey. 

For  more  than  an  hour  nothinj^  particular  happened. 
John  drove  on  at  a  fair  pace,  and  the  two  Boers  cantered 
along;  belu’nd.  At  the  end  of  tliis  time,  however,  just  as 
the\‘  wore  approaching  tlie  I^ed  House,  wliere  Frank  ilul- 
ler  had  obtained  the  pass  from  tlie  general  on  the  prcrious 
day,  one  of  the  lioens  rode  up  and  told  them,  'roughly 
enough,  that  they  were  to  outspan  at  the  house,  whez’e 
they  would  get  .some  food.  A.s  it  was  past  one  o’clock, 
tney  were  by  zzo  means  sorry  to  hear  this,  and  axcordingly 
John  drew  up  the  cart  about  fifty  yards  from  the  place, 
and  they  proceeded  to  get  the  horse.s  out,  and,  liaving 
watched  th(;m  roll  and  drink,  proceeded  to  the  house. 

The  two  Boers,  who  had  also  off  saddled,  were  already 
sitting  on  the  veranda,  and  when  Jess  looked  inquiringly 
toward  them  one  of  them  pointed  with  his  pipe  toward 
the  little  room.  Taking  the  hint,  they  entered,  and  found 
a  Flottentot  woman  just  setting  some  food  upon  the  table. 

“  Hei'e  is  dinner:  let  us  eat  it,”  said  John;  ‘‘goodnes.s 
knows  when  we  shall  get  any  more!”  and  accordingly 
he  .sat  down. 

As  he  did  so  the  two  Boers  came  in,  and  one  of  them 
made  some  sneering  remark  that  made  the  other  look  at 
them  and  laugh  insultingly. 

John  flushed  up,  but  took  no  notice.  Indeed,  he  thought 
it  safest  not,  for.  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not  much  like 
the  appearance  of  these  two  worthies.  One  of  them  was  a 
big,  smooth,  pasty-faced  man,  with  a  peculiarly  villainous 
expression  or  countenance,  and  a  prominent  tooth  tliat 
pi-ojected  in  ghastly  isolation  over  his  lower  lip.  Tfio 
other  was  a  small  man,  with  a  sardonic  smile  and  a  pro¬ 
fusion  of  black  beard  and  whiskers  on  his  face,  and  long 
hair  hanging  on  to  his  shoulders.  Indeed,  when  he  smiled 
more  vigorously  than  usual,  his  eyebrows  came  down  and 
bis  vvhiskers  advanced,  and  his  mustache  went  up  till 
there  was  scarcely  any  face  left,  and  he  looked  more  like 
a-great  bearded  monkey  than  a  man.  This  man  was  a 
Boer  of  the  wildest  type  from  the  far  borders  of  Zoutpan.s- 
berg,  and  did  not  understand  a  word  of  English.  Je-iS 
nicku.anied  him  the  Vilderbee.ste,  from  his  likness  to  th.it 
ferocious-looking  and  hairy  animal.  The  other  man.  on 
the  contr.azy,  understood  English  perfectly,  for  he  n.id 
pas>4ed  many  years  of  his  life  in  Natal,  having  left  that  ci)i- 
ony  on  account  of  some  little  indiscretion  about  thrashing 
Kafirs  tliat  had  brought  him  into  collision  with  the  penal 
laws.  Him  Jciss  named  the  Unicorn,  on  account  of  his 0:10 
gleaming  tusk. 

The  Unicorn  was  an  unusually  pious  man,  and  on  arriV' 


JESS. 


U4 

ing  at  the  table  he,  to  John's  astonishment,  gently  but 
fii-inly  gi-asped  the  knife  with  which  he  Avas  about  to  cut 
tiiu  meat. 

“  Wliat’s  the  matter?”  said  John. 

Tlie  ]3oer  shook  his  head  sadly.  “No  Avonder  you  En- 
glisii  are  an  accursed  race,  and  have  been  given  over  into 
our  hands,  as  the  great  King  Agag  Avas  given  into  the 
‘lands  of  the  Israelites,  so  that  Ave  have  hewed  you  to 
pieces.  You  sit  down  to  meat  and  give  no  thanks  to  the 
dear  Lord,”  and  he  threv/  back  his  head  and  sung  out  a 
portentously  lo’ig  Dutch  grace  through  his  nose.  Nob 
content  with  that,  he  set  to  work  to  translate  it  into  En¬ 
glish,  which  took  a  good  time;  nor  was  the  rendering  a 
very  fiai'-;lied  one  in  the  result. 

The  Vilderbeeste  grinned  sardonically,  and  put  in  a 
•pious  “  Ame'n!”  and  then,  at  last,  they  Avere  allowed  to 
proceed  Avith  their  dinner,  which,  on  the  Avhole,  was  not  a 
pleasant  one.  But  then  they  could  not  expect  much  plea.5- 
iire  under  the  circ  im-itances,  so  they  just  ate  their  f()<).l 
and  in.'ide  the  best  of  a  bad  job.  After  all,  it  might  huvo 
been  worse:  they  miglit  have  had  no  dinner  to  eat. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

ON  TITE  ROAD. 

They  had  just  finished  their  meal,  and  were  about  to 
le.we  the  table,  when  suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  Avho 
should,  appear  at  it  but  Frank  Muller  himself!  There  Avas 
no  mistake  about  him;  there  he  stood,  stroking  his  long 
golden  beard,  as  big,  as  handsome,  and,  to  Jess’  mind,  as 
evil  looking  as  ever.  The  cold  eyes  fell  upon  John  with  a 
glu  lee  of  recognition,  and  then  something  like  a  smile 
be^...i  to  play  round  the  corners  of  the  fine-cut,  cruel 
ine'.uh.  Suddenly,  however,  his  gaze  lit  upon  the  two 
Bori  s.  <j!ie  of  Avhom  was  ipicking  his  teeth  withasteel  fork, 
and  -  he  other  lighting  his  iiijie  within  a  few  inches  of  Jess’ 
he.ud.  and  instantly  his  face  grew  stern  and  angry. 

■  VViiat  did  I  tell  you  two  men?”  he  said;  “that  you 
were  not  to  eat  'outh  the  prisoners”  (this  word  struck 
a wl;  vardly  on  Jess'  eai‘).  "  I  told  you  that  they  Avere  to 
be  :  rented  with  all  respect,  and  iiei  e  I  find  you  spraAvliiig 
.'  ■•.  '■r  ■: he  table  and  smoking  in  their  faces.  Be  oli  with 
yon  !” 

Tiio  smooth-faced  man  Avith  the  tusk  rose  at  once  Avith 
.:.  sigh,  put  down  the  steel  fork  a\  ith  wdiich  he  had  been 
opi-rat  in.g,  and  departed,  recognizing  that  Meinheer  Muller 
was  not  a  commanding  officer  to  be  trifled  with,  but  his 
';;io-;n.ion.  the  Vilderbeeste,  demurred.  “What,”  he 
:aid,  tossing  his  head  so  as  to  throAV  the  long  hl^ck  linir 


JESS. 


145 


out  of  his  «yes,  “am  I  not  fit  to  sit  at  meat  with  a  couple 
of  accursed  English— a  rooihaatje  and  a  woman?  If  I  had 
my  way  he  should  clean  my  boots  and  slie  sliould  cun  up 
my  tobacco;’’  and  he  grinned  at  tlie  notion  till  eyebrows, 
whiskers,  and  mustache  all  nearly  met  round  bis  nose, 
making  him  look  for  all  the  world  like  a  hairy -faced 
baboon. 

Frank  Muller  made  no  answer  in  words.  He  simply 
took  one  step  forward,  pounced  upon  his  insubordinate  fol¬ 
lower,  and  with  a  single  swing  of  his  athletic  fi  ame  sent 
him  flying  headlong  through  the  door,  so  that  the  free  and 
independent  burgher  lit  upon  his  head  in  the  passage, 
smashing  his  pipe  and  considerably  damaging  his  best  feat¬ 
ure-— his  nose.  “There, ’’said  Muller,  shutting  the  door 
after  him,  “that  is  the  only  way  to  deal  with  a  fellow 
like  that.  And  now  let  me  bid  you  good-day.  Miss  Jess,’’ 
and  he  extended  his  hand,  which  Jess  took,  rather  coldly, 
it  must  be  owned. 

“  It  has  given  me  great  pleasure  to  be  able  to  do  you 
this  little  service,’’  he  added  politely.  “I  had  consider¬ 
able  difficulty  in  getting  the  pass  from  the  general— indeed 
I  was  obliged  to  urge  my  personal  services  before  he  would 

five  it  to  me.  But,  never  mind  that,  I  did  get  it,  as  you 
now,  and  it  will  be  my  care  to  escort  you  safely  to 
Mooifontein.’’ 

Jess  bowed,  and  Muller  turned  to  John,  who  had  risen 
from  his  chair  and  was  standing  some  two  pacps  from  him, 
and  addressed  him.  “  Captain  Niel,’’  ho  said,  “you  and  I 
have  had  some  differences  in  the  past.  I  hope  that  the 
service  I  am  doing  you  will  prove  that  I,  for  one,  bear  no 
malice.  I  will  go  further.  As  I  told  you  before,  I  was  to 
blame  in  that  affair  in  the  inn  yard  at  Wakkerstroom. 
Let  us  shake  hands  and  end  what  we  cannot  mend,’’  and 
he  stepped  forward  and  extended  his  hand. 

Jess  turned  to  see  what  would  happen.  She  knew  the 
whole  story,  and  hoped  he  would  not  take  the  man’s  hand ; 
then,  remembering  their  position,  she  hoped  he  woidd. 

John  turned  color  a  little,  and  then  deliberately  drew 
himself  up  and  put  his  hand  behind  his  back. 

“  I  am  very  sorry,  Mr.  Muller,’’  he  said,  “  but  even  in 
our  present  position  I  cannot  shake  hands  with  you;  but 
you  will  know  why.”  . 

Jess  saw  a  flush  of  the  furious  passion  which  was  nis 
weak  point  spread  itself  over  the  Boer’s  face. 

“I  do  not  know.  Captain  Niel.  Be  so  good  as  to  ex¬ 
plain.” 

“Very  well,  I  will,”  said  John,  calmly, 
assassinate  me.” 

“  What  do  you  moan?”  thundered  Mujl 


You  tried  to 


t46 


JESS. 


“  What  I  say.  You  shot  at  me  twice  under  the  pretense 
of  firing  at  a  buck.  Look  here!”— and  he  took  up  his  soft 
black  hat,  which  he  sLll  h;id— “here  is  the  mark  of  one 
of  your  bullets!  I  did  not  know  about'it  than;  I  do  now, 
and  I  decline  to  shake  hands  with  you.” 

By  this  time  Muller’s  fury  had  got  the  better  of  him. 
“  You  shall  answer  for  that,  you  English  liar!”  he  said,  at 
the  same  time  clapping  his  hand  to  his  belt,  in  which  his 
hunting-knife  was  placed.  Thus  for  a  few  seconds  they 
stood  face  to  face.  John  never  flinched  or  moved.  There 
he  stood,  quiet  and  strong  as  some  old  stubby  tree,  his 
plain  honest  face  and  watchful  eye  affording  a  strange  con- 
trast  to  the  beautiful  but  demoniacal  countenance  of  the 
-  great  Butchman.  Presently  he  spoke  in  measured  tones. 

”  I  have  proved  myself  a  better  man  than  yourself  once, 
Prank  Midler,  and  if  necessary  I  will  again,  notwithstand¬ 
ing  that  knife  of  yours.  But,  in  the  meantime,  I  wdsh  to 
remind  you  that  I  have  a  pass  signed  by  your  own  general 
guaranteeing  our  safety.  And  now,  Mr.  Midler,  with  a 
flash  of  the  blue  eyes,  ‘‘I  am  ready.”  The  Dutchman 
drew  the  knife  and  then  replaced  it  in  its  sheath.  For  a 
moivienC  he  was  minded  to  end  the  matter  then  and  there, 
but  suddenly  remembered,  even  in  his  rage,  that  there  was 
a  witness. 

‘‘A  pass  from  the  general!”  he  said,  forgetting  his 
caution  in  his  fury.  ”  Much  good  a  pass  from  the  general 
is  likely  to  be  to  you.  You  are  in  my  power,  man!  If  I 
choose  to  close  ray  hand  I  can  crush  you.  But  tliere — 
there,”  he  added,  checking  himself,  ‘‘perhaps  I  ought  to 
make  allowances.  You  are  one.  of  a  defeated  people,  and 
no  doubt  are  sore,  and  say  what  you  do  not  mean.  Any¬ 
how,  there  is  an  end  of  it,  especially  in  the  presence  of  a 
lady.  Some  day  we  may  be  able  to  settle  our  ti’ouble  like 
men.  Captain  Niel;  till  then,  with  your  permission,  we 
will  let  it  drop.  ” 

"  Quite  so,  Mr.  Muller,”  said  John,  ‘‘only  you  must  not 
ask  me  to  shake  hands  with  you.” 

•'Very  good.  Captain  Niel;  and  now,  if  you  will  allow 
me.  I  will  tell  the  boy  to  get  your  horses  in;  we  must  be 
gettiiig  on  if  we  are  to  reach  Heidelberg  to-night.”  And 
he  bowed  himself  out,  feeling  that  his  temper  had  once 
more  endangered  the  success  of  his  plans.  ‘‘Curse  the 
man!”  he  said  to  himself :  ‘‘he  is  what  those  English  call 
a  gentleman.  It  was  brave  of  him  to  refuse  to  take  my 
hand  when  he  is  in  my  power.” 

“John,”  said  Jess,  as  soon  as  the  door  had  closed,  ‘‘I 
am  afraid  of  that  man.  If  I  had  understood  tb.it  lu)  bad 
anything  to  do  with  the  pass  I  would  not  hove  I 


JESS. 


147 


thought  that  the  writing  was  familiar  1  <  mo.  Oh,  dear! 
I  wish  we  had  stopped  at  Pretoria.” 

“What  can’t  be  cured  must  be  endured,”  said  John 
again.  “The  only  thii'ig  to  do  is  to  make  the  best  of  it, 
and  get  on  as  we  can.  You  will  be  all  right  anyhow,  but 
he  hates  me  like  poison.  I  suppose  that  is’ on  account  of 
Bessie.” 

■’Yes,  that’s  it,”  said  Jess;  “he  is  madly  in  love  with 
Bessie,  or  was.” 

“  It  is  curious  to  think  that  a  man  like  that  can  be  in 
love,”  .remarked  John,  as  he  lit  his  pipe,  “but  it  only 
shows  what  queer  mixtxires  people  are.  I  say,  Jess,  if  this 
fellow  hates  me  so,  what  made  him  give  me  the  pass,  eh? 
What’s  his  game?” 

Jess  shook  her  head  as  she  answered,  “I  don’t  know, 
John;  I  don’t  like  it.” 

“  I  suppose  he  can’t  mean  to  murder  me;  he  did  try  it  on 
once,  you  know.” 

“Oh,  no,  John,”  she  answered,  with  a  sort  of  cry,  “not 
that.  ’  ’ 

“Well,  I  don’t  know  that  it  would  matter  much,”  he 
said,  with  an  approach  to  cheerfulness  which  was  rather 
a  failure.  “It  would  save  one  a  deal  of  worry,  and  only 
anticipate  things  a  bit.  But  there.  I  frightened  you,  and  I 
dare  say  that  he  is,  for  the  present,  at  any  rate,  an  honest 
man,  and  has  no  intentions  on  my  person.  Look!  there 
is  Monti  calling  us.  I  wonder  if  those  brutes  have  given 
him  anything  to  eat!  We’ll  collar  the  rest  of  this  leg  of 
mutton  on  chance.  At  any  rate,  Mr.  Frank  Muller  sha’n’t 
starve  me  to  death,”  and,  with  a  cheerful  laugh,  he  left  the 
room. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  on  their  road  again.  As 
they  started.  Prank  Muller  came  up,  took  off  his  hat,  and 
informed  them  that  he  would  probably  join  them  on  the 
morrow  below  Heidelberg,  in  which  town  they  would  find 
every  preparation  to  enable  them  to  spend  the  night  com¬ 
fortably.  If  he  did  not  join  them  it  would  be  because  he 
was  detained  on  duty.  In  that  case  the  two  /nen  had  his 
orders  to  escort  them  safely  to  Mooifontein,  and,  he  added, 
significantly,  “  I  do  not  think  that  you  will  be  troubled 
with  any  further  impoliteness.  ” 

In  another  moment  ho  had  galloped  off  on  his  great  blaciC 
horse,  leaving  the  pair  considerably  7nystified  and  not  a 
little  relieved. 

“Well,”  said  John,  “at  any  rate  that  does  not  look  hke 
foul  play,  unless,  indeed,  he  has  gone  on  to  prepare  a  warm 
reception  for  us.  ” 

Je.'’s  .sl'.r’igged  her  shoulders,  she  co”’!  i  i^ot  mnke  it  out; 
«nd  tiieii  they  settled  themselves  do'*  *  •  -  .‘liiir  long  lonely 


148 


JESS. 


drive.  They  had  forty  odd  miles  to  cover,  but  the  guides, 
or  rather  the  guard,  would  only  consent  to  their  outspan- 
ning  once,  which  they  did  on  the  open  veldt  a  little  before 
suiibet.  At  sundown  they  inspanned  again,  and  started 
across  the  darkening  veldt.  The  road  was  in  a  shocking 
state,  and  until  the  moon  got  up,  which  it  did  about  nine 
o'clock,  the  journey  was  both  diihcult  and  dangerous. 
A fter  tliat  tliiiigs  were  a  little  better;  and  at  last,  about 
eleven  o'clock,  they  got  into  Heidelburg.  The  town  seemed 
almost  deserted.  Evidently  the  great  body  of  the  Boers 
w(>re  at  tb.e  front,  and  had  only  left  a  guard  at  their  seat 
of  govermnent. 

■■  vYhero  are  we  to  outspan?”  asked  John  of  the  Uni¬ 
corn,  V  ho  was  jogging  on  alongside,  apparently  half 
asleep. 

“  A-t  the  hotel,”  was  the  short  reply,  and  thither  they 
went;  and  thankful  enough  were  they  to  get  thei-e,  and  to 
fiiid,  from  the  liglits  in  the  windows,  that  the  people  were 
still  up. 

J('ss  had  been  asleep  for  the  last  couple  of  hours,  not- 
withstanding  the  awful  jolting  of  the  cart.  Her  arm  was 
hooked  round  the  back  of  the  seat,  and  her  head  rested 
against  John's  greatcoat,  which  he  had  fixed  up  in  such  a 
way  as  to  make  a  pillow.  “Where  are  we?”  she  asked, 
waking  up  with  a  start  as  the  cart  stopped.  ”  I  hav’e  had 
suc.h  a  bad  dream!  I  dreamt  that  I  was  traveling  through 
life,  and  that  suddenly  everything  stopped,  and  I  was  dead.” 

“I  don’t  wonder  at  it,”  laughed  John;  “the  road  for 
the  last  ten  miles  has  been  as  rough  as  anybody’s  life.  We 
are  at  the  hotel.  Here  come  the  boys  to  take  the  horses,” 
aiul  he  clambered  stiffly  out  of  the  cart  and  helped  or 
rather  lifted  her  down,  for  she  was  almost  too  cramped  to 
move. 

Standing  at  the  inn  door,  holding  a  light  above  her  head, 
they  found  a  pleasant-looking  Englishwoman,  who  wel¬ 
comed  them  heartily. 

“  Frank  Muller  was  here  three  hottrs  ago,  and  told  me  to 
expect  you.”  she  said;  “and  very  glad  1  am  to  see  an  En¬ 
glish  face  again,  I  can  tell  you.  My  name  is  Gooch.  Tell 
me,  is  my  husband  all  right  in  Pretoria?  He  went  up 
there  with  his  wagon  just  before  the  siege  began,  and  I 
have  not  heard  a  word  from  him  since.” 

“Yes,”  said  John,  “he  is  all  right.  He  was  slightly 
wounded  in  the  shoulder  a  month  ago,  but  he  has  quite  re¬ 
covered.” 

“Oh,  thank  God!”  said  the  poor  woman,  beginning  to 
cry;  “  those  devils  told  me  that  he  was  dead — to  torment 
ipe,  1  suppose.  Come  in,  miss;  there  is  some  hot  supper 


JESS.  '  "140 

ready  when  you  have  washed  your  hands.  The  boys  will 
see  to  the  horses.” 

Accordingly  they  entered,  and  were  made  as  happy  as  a 
good  supper,  a  hearty  welcome,  and  comfortable  beds  could 
make  people  in  their  condition. 

In  the  early  morning  one  of  their  estimable  escort  sent 
in  a  message  to  say  that  they  were  not  to  start  before  half¬ 
past  ten,  as  their  horses  required  more  rest,  so  they  got 
several  hours  more  in  bed  than  they  had  expected,  and 
anybody  who  has  ever  made  a  journey  in  a  post-cart  in 
South  Africa  can  understand  what  a  blessing  that  w’as.  At 
nine  they  had  breakfast,  and  as  the  clock  struck  half-past 
ten  Mouti  brought  the  cart  around,  and  with  it  came  the 
two  Boers. 

“Well,  Mrs.  Gooch,”  said  John,  “what  do  we  owe 
you?” 

“Nothing,  Captain  Niel,  nothing.  If  you  only  knew 
what  a  weight  you  have  taken  off  my  mind !  Besides,  we 
are  quite  ruined;  the  Boers  have  taken  all  my  husband's 
cattle  and  horses,  and  until  last  week  six  of  them  Avere 
quartered  on  me  without  paying  a  farthing,  so  it  makes  no 
odds  to  me.” 

“Never  mind.  Mrs.  Gooch,”  said  John,  cheerfully,  “the 
government  will  compensate  you  when  this  business  is 
over,  no  doubt.  ’  ’ 

Mrs.  Gooch  shook  her  head  prophetically.  ”  Never  a 
farthing  do  I  expect  to  see,”  she  said.  “  If  only  I  can  get 
my  husband  back,  and  we  can  escape  out  of  this  wicked 
place  with  our  lives,  I  shall  be  thankful.  And  look  here, 
Captain  Niel,  I  have  put  up  a  basket  full  of  food — bread, 
meat,  and  hard-boiled  eggs,  and  a  bottle  of  three-star 
brandy.  They  may  be  useful  to  you  and  the  young  lady 
before  you  get  home.  I  don't  know  Avhere  you  will  sleep 
to-night,  for  the  English  are  still  holding  Standerton,  so 
you  won’t  be  able  to  stop  there,  and  you  can’t  get  right 
through.  No,  don't  thank  me,  I  could  not  do  less.  Good¬ 
bye — good-bye,  miss;  I  hope  you  Avill  get  through  all 
right.  You  had  better  look  out,  though.  Those  two  men 
you  have  got  with  you  are  a  very  bad  lot.  I  heard  say 
that  that  fat-faced  man  with  the  tooth  shot  two  wounded 
men  through  the  head  after  the  fight  at  Bronker’s  Spruit, 
an<i  I  know  no  good  of  the  other.  They  Avere  laughing  and 
talking  together  about  you  in  the  kitchen  this  moraing; 
one  of  my  boys  overheard  them,  and  the  man  with  the 
long  hair  said  that,  at  any  rate,  they  would  not  be  troubled 
with  you  after  to-night.  I  don’t  know  what  he  meant; 
perhaps  they  are  going  to  change  the  escort ;  but  I  thought 
that  I  had  lietter  tell  you.  ”  u  4-  4- 

John  lookgd  grave,  and  his  suspicions  rearpse,  but  at 


160 


J-E'SS.. 


that  moment  one  of  the  men  in  question  rode  up  and  toM 
him  that  he  must  start  at  once,  and  so  off  they  went. 

This  second  day’s  journey  was  in  many  respects  a  conn 
terpart  of  the  iii'st.  The  road  was  utterly  deserted,  and 
they  saw  neither  Boer.  Englishman,  nor  Kafir  upon  it; 
nothing,  indeed,  except  a  few  herds  of  game  grazing  on 
the  ridges.  About  tvvo  o’clock,  however,  just  as  they  lied 
started  on  after  a  short  outspan,  a  little  incident  occurred. 
Suddenly  the  Vilderbeeste’s  horse  put  his  foot  into  an  ant- 
bear  hoie  and  foil  heavily,  throwing  his  rider  on  to  his 
head.  He  was  np  in  a  minnte,  but  his  forehead  had 
struck  against  the  jawbone  of  a  dead  buck,  and  the  blood 
was  pouring  from  it  all  down  his  hairy  face.  His  compan¬ 
ion  laughed  brutally  at  the  sight,  for  there  are  some 
natures  in  the  world  to  which  the  sight  of  pain  is  iri-esist- 
ibly  comical,  but  the  injured  man  cursed  aloud,  trying  to 
stanch  the  flow  with  the  lappet  of  his  coat. 

“  Waacht  een  beeche  ”  [Wait  a  bit],  said  Joss,  “  there  is 
some  water  in  that  pool,”  and  without  further  to  do  she 
got  out  of  the  trap  aud  led  the  man,  who  was  half -blinded 
with  blood,  to  the  spring.  Here  she  made  him  kneel  down 
and  bathed  the  wound,  which  was  hot  a  very  deep  one, 
till  it  stopped  bleeding,  and  then,  having  fii-st  placed  a  pad 
of  cotton -wool,  some  of  which  she  happened  to  have  in  the 
cart,  upon  it,  bound  her  handkerchief  tightly  round  bis 
head.  The  man-  brute  as  he  was,  appeared  to  be  much 
touched  at  her  kindness. 

Almighty.”  he  said,  '‘but  you  have  a  kind  heart  and 
soft  fingers;  my  own  wife  could  not  have  done  it  better;  it 
is  a  pity  that  you  are  a  damned  Englishwoman.” 

Jess  climbed  back  into  the  cart,  making  no  reply,  ajid 
they  started  on,  the  Vilderbeeste  looking  more  savage  and 
inhuman  than  ever  with  the  discolored  handkerchief 
round  his  head,  and  his  dense  beard  and  hair  niatted 
with  the  blood  he  would  not  take  the  trouble  to  wash  out 
of  them. 

After  this  nothing  further  occurred  till,  by  the  orders  of 
their  escort,  they  outspanned,  an  hour  or  so  before  sunset, 
at  a  spot  in  the  veldt  where  a  faint  track  forked  out  of 
the  Standertou  road. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

IN  THE  DRIFT  OF  THE  VAAH. 

The  day  had  been  intensely  and  overpoweringly  hot^ 
and  our  travelen's  sat  iu  the  shade  of  the  cart  positivxdy 
gasping.  During  the  afternoon  there  had  been  a  little 
breeze,  but  tliis  had  now  died  away,  and  the  stifling  air 
lei.t  as  thick  as  .though  tliey  were  breatumg  c'  .,iu.  Even 


JESS. 


151 


the  Bof'r  V  por-nied  to  fool  the  heoit,  for  they  \'otg  both 
outstretch('d  on  the  grass  a  few  paces  to  the  left,  to  all  ap¬ 
pearance  fast  asleep.  As  for  the  horses,  they  were  thor¬ 
oughly  (lone  up  -too  much  so  to  eat— and  hobbled  along  as 
well  as  their  knee  lialters  would  allow,  daintily  picking  a 
mouthful  here  and  a  mouthful  there.  The  only  person 
who  did  not  seem  to  mind  was  the  Zulu  Mouti,  whc)  sat  on 
anantheap  near  the  horses,  in  full  glare  of  the  setting  sun, 
and  comfortably  droned  out  a  little  song  of  his  own  ip.ven- 
tion,  for  Zulus  are  a,s  great  at  improvising  as  the  Italians, 

“  Have  another  egg,  Jess?”  said  John.  “  It  will  do  you 
good.” 

‘'No,  thank  yon;  the  last  one  stuck'  in  my  throat.  It  is 
impossible  to  eat  in  this  heat.” 

"  Yon  had  better.  G-oodness  knows  when  and  where  we 
shall  stop  again.  I  can  get  nothing  out  of  our  delightful 
escort;  either  they  don’t  know,  or  they  won’t  say.” 

“  I  can’t,  John.  There  is  a  thunderstorm  coming  up;  I 
can  feel  it  in  my  head,  and  I  can  never  eat  before  a  thun¬ 
derstorm— and  when  I  am  tired,”  she  added,  by  an  after¬ 
thought. 

After  that  the  cofiversation  flagged  for  awhile. 

“John,”  said  Jess  at  last,,  “where  do  you  suppose  we 
are  going  to  camp  to-night?  If  we  follow  the  mo  in  i-oad, 
we  shall  reach  Standerton  in  an  hour.” 

“  I  don’t  suppose  that  they  will  go  near  Standerton,”  he 
eaid.  “  I  suppose  that  we  shall  cross  the  Vaal  by  another 
drift,  and  have  to  '  veldt  ’  it.” 

Just  then  the  two  Boei’S  woke  up,  and  began  to  talk 
earnestly  together,  as  though  they  Avere  debating  some¬ 
thing  hotly. 

Slowly  the  huge  red  ball  of  the  sun  sank  toward  the 
horizon,  steeping  the  earth  and  sky  in  blood.  About  a 
hundreci  yards  from  where  they  sat,  the  little  bridle-path 
that  branched  frorn  the  main  road  crossed  the  crest  of  one 
of  the  great  land-vvaves  tliat  rolled  away  in  every  direc¬ 
tion  toward  the  far  horizon.  John  watched  the  sun  sink¬ 
ing  behind  it  till  something  called  aAvay  his  attention  for  a 
minute.  When  he  looked  up  again  there  was  a  figure  on 
horseback,  standing  qnite  still,  upon  the  (^rest  of  the  ridge, 
in  the  full  gloAv  of  the  now  disappearing  sun.  It  n^s 
Frank  Muller,  John,  recognized  him  in  a  moment.  His 
horse  was  standing  sideways,  so  that  even  a,t  that  distance 
every  line  of  his  features,  aijd  even  the  trigger  guard  or 
the  rifle  that  rested  on  his  Icuee,  showed  di:stin(:‘ily  against 
the  background  of  smoky  red.  Nor  was  that  ail.  Toth  he 
and  his  horse  h.-d  the  appearance  of  being  nl>;-oli:tely  on 
fire.  The  ehect  produce(.l  was  so  weird  and  <■%!' r'crdi-  ,,i-y 


153 


JESS. 


that  John  called  his  companion’s  attention  to  it.  Sh@ 
looked,  and  shuddered  involuntarily. 

“  lie  looks  like  a  devil  in  hell,”  she  said;  ”  the  fire  seems 
to  1)0  running  all  up  and  down  him.” 

"Well,”  said  John,  •‘he  certainly  is  a  devil,  hut  lam 
sorry  to  say  that  he  has  not  yet  reached  his  destination. 
Here  he  .comes,  like  a  whirlwind.” 

In  another  twenty  seconds  Mullet  had  reined  the  great 
black  horse  on  to  his  haunches  alongside  of  them,  and  was 
smiling  sweetly  and  taking  off  his  hat. 

”  You  see  i  have  managed  to  keep  my  word,”  he  said. 
“  I  can  tell  you  that  I  had  great  difficulty  in  doing  so;  in¬ 
deed,  I  was  nearl}^  obliged  to  give  up  the  thing  at  the  last 
moment.  However,  here  I  am.” 

”  Where  are  we  to  outspan  to-night?”  asked  Jess.  “At 
Standerton?” 

“  No,”  he  said;  “1  am  afraid  that  that  is  more  than  Icaij 
manage  for  you,  unless  you  can  persuade  the  English  officer 
there  to  surrender.  What  I  have  arranged  is,  that  v/e 
should  cross  the  Vaal  at  a  drift  I  know  about  two  hours 
Itwelve  miles)  from  here,  and  outspan  at  a  farm  on  the 
other  side.  Do  not  trouble,  I  assure  you  you  shall  both 
sleep  well  to-night,”  and  he  smiled  a  somewhat  terrifying 
smile,  Jess  thought. 

“But  how  about  this  drift,  Mr.  Muller?”  said  John. 
“  Is  it  safe?  I  should  have  thought  that  the  Vaal  would 
have  been  in  flood  after  all  the  rain  that  we  have  had.” 

•  •  The  drift  is  perfectly  safe.  Captain  Niel.  I  have  crossed 
it  myself  about  two  hours  ago.  I  know  you  have  a  bad 
opinion  of  me,  but  I  suppose  you  do  not  think  that  I  should 
guide  you  to  an  unsafe  drift?”  and  with  another  bow  he 
rode  on  to  speak  to  the  two  Boers,  saying,  as  he  went, 
“  Will  you  tell  the  Kafir  to  put  the  horses  in?” 

With  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  John  rose  and  went  off  to 
ward  Mouti,  to  help  him  to  drive  up  the  four  grays,  who 
were  now  standing  limply  together,  biting  at  the  flies,  that, 
before  a  storm,  sting  more  sharply  than  at  any  other  time. 
The  two  horses  belonging  to  the  escort  were  some  fifty 
paces  to  the  left.  It  was  as  though  they  appreciated  the 
position  of  affairs,  and  declined  to  mix  with  the  animals  of 
the  discredited  Englishman. 

The  two  Boers  rose  as  Muller  came  and  walked  off  to¬ 
ward  their  horses,  Muller  sloAvly  following  them.  As  they 
came  the  horses  hobbled  away  another  thirty  yards  or  so, 
and  then  lifted  up  their  heads,  and,  as  a  consequence,  their 
forelegs,  to  which  the  heads  were  tied,  and  stood  looking 
defiantly  at  their  captors,  for  all  the  world  as  though  they 
were  trying  to  make  up  their  minds  whether  or  no  to  shake 
hands  '>  them.  _ 


JESS.  153 

Frank  Muller  was  alongside  the  two  men  now,  and  they 
were  alongside  the  horses. 

“  Listen!'’  he  said,  sternly. 

The  men  looked  up. 

“  Go  on  loosening  the  reins,  and  listen.” 

They  obeyed,  and  began  to  slowly  fumble  at  the  knee^ 
Aalters. 

“You  understand  what  our  orders  are.  Repeat  them-- 
you !” 

The  man  with  the  tooth,  who  was  addre.ssed,  still  handling 
the  rein,  began  as  follows:  ”  To  take  tlie  two  prisoners  to 
the  Vaal,  to  force  them  into  the  water  where  there  is  no 
drift,  at  night,  so  that  they  drown ;  if  they  do  not  drown, 
to  shoot  them.  ” 

”  Those  are  the  orders,”  said  the  Vilderbeeste,  grinning. 

”  You  understand  them?'’ 

“We  understand,  meinheer;  but,  forgive  us,  the  matter 
is  a  big  one.  You  gave  the  orders— we  wisli  to  see  the  au¬ 
thority.” 

‘‘Yah,  yah,”  said  the  other,  ‘‘show  us  the  authority. 
These  arc  two  harmless  people  enough.  Show  us  the  au¬ 
thority  for  killing  them.  People  must  not  be  killed  so, 
even  if  they  are  English  folk,  without  proper  authority, 
especially  w'hen  one  is  a  pretty  girl  who  wmuld  do  for  a 
man's  wife.” 

Frank  Muller  set  his  teeth.  ‘‘  Nice  fellows  you  are  to 
have  under  one he  said.  ‘‘  I  am  your  officer;  what  other 
authority  do  ^mu  want?  But  I  thought  of  this.  See  liere I” 
and  he  drew  a  paper  from  his  pocket.  ‘‘  Here,  you— read 
it!  Careful  now — do  not  let  them  see  from  the  wagon.’’ 

The  big  flabby-faced  man  took  the  paper,  and,  still  bend¬ 
ing  down  over  the  horse’s  knee,  read  aloud: 

‘‘The  two  prisoners  and  their  servant  (an  Englishman, 
an  English  girl,  and  a  Zulu  Kafir)  to  be  executed  in  pin-su- 
ance  of  our  decree,  as  your  commanding  officer  shall  order, 
as  enemies  to  the  Repiiblic.  For  so  doing  this  shall  be  your 
warrant.” 

‘‘You  see  the  signature,”  said  Muller,  “and  you  do  not 
dispute  it?” 

“  Yah,  Ave  see  it,  and  we  do  not  dispute  it.” 

“  Good.  Give  me  back  the  warrant. ’’ 

The  man  with  the  tooth  was  about  to  do  so  when  his  com¬ 
panion  interposed. 

“No.”  he  said,  “the  warrant  must  remain  Avith  iis.  I 
do  not  like  the  job.  If  it  Avere  only  the  man  and  the  Kafir 
now — but  the  girl,  the  girl !  If  we  give  you  back  the  Avar- 
rant,  what  shall  Ave  have  to  show  for  the  deed  of  blood? 
The  wmrrant  must  remain  with  us.  ’  ’ 


154 


“  ^ah,  yah,  he  is  right.”  said  the  inacorsi;  ”  the  warranUt 
mu-St  rciiiuia  with  us.  Put  it  in  youi-  poekct,  Jan.” 

‘.‘Curse  you.  give  it  mo!”  said  Muller,  between  his  teeth. 

”  No,  Frank  Muller,  no!”  answered  the  Vilderbeeste,  pat¬ 
ting  his  pocket,  while  the  two  or  three  sqvnare  inches  of 
skhi  round  his  nose  wrinkled  up  in- a  hairy  grin  that,  owing 
to  the  cut  on  his  head,  was  even  more  curious  than  usual; 
‘‘if  you  wish  to  have  the  wai'rant  you  shall  have  it,  but 
then  we  shall  up- saddle  and  go,  and  j’ou  can  do  your  mur- 
deriiig  yourself.  There,  there !  take  your  choice;  we  shall 
be  glad  enough  to  get  home,  for  we  do  not  like  the  job.  If 
I  go  out  shooting  I  like  to  shoot  buck  or  Kafirs,  not  white 
people.  ’  ’ 

Frank  Muller  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  he  laughed  a 
little. 

”  You  are  funny  people,  you  home-bred  Boers,”  liesaid; 
“  but  perhaps  you  are  right.  After  ail,  what  does  it  mat¬ 
ter  who  has  the  warrant,  provided  the  thing  is  well  done? 
Mind  that  there  is  no  bungling,  that  is  all.” 

‘‘  Yah,  yah!”  said  the  fat-faced  jnaii,  ”  you  can  trust  us 
for  that.  It  won’t  be  the  first  that  we  have  toppled  over. 
If  I  have  my  warrant  I  ask  nothing  better  than  to  go  on 
shooting  Englishmen  all  night,  one  down,  the  other  come 
on.  I  know  no  prettier  sight  than  an  Englishman  top¬ 
pling  over.” 

‘‘Stop  that  talk  and  saddle  up.  the  cart  is  waiting. 
You  fools  can  never  understand  the  diffei'ence  between 
killing  when  it  is  necessary  to  kill  and  killing  for  killing’s 
sake.  These  people  must  die  because  they  have  betrayed 
the  land.” 

“Yah,  yah!”  said  the  Vilderbeeste,  ‘‘betrayed  the 
land;  we  have  heard  that  before.  Those  who  betray  the 
land  must  manure  it;  that  is  a  good  rule,”  and  he  laughed 
and  passed  on, 

Frank  Muller  watched  his  retreating  form  with  a  smile 
of  peculiar  malignity  on  his  handsome  face.  ”  Ah,  my 
friend,  ’  ’  he  said  to  himself  in  Dutch,  ‘  “  you  and  that  war¬ 
rant  will  part  company  before  you  are  many  hours  older. 
Why,  it  would  be  enough  to  hang  me,  even  iii  this  happy 

land  of  patriots.  Old -  would  not  forgive  me  for  taking 

that  little  liberty  with  his  naine.  Dear  me,  what  a  lot  of 
trouble  one  has  to  take  to  be  rid  of  a  single  enemy!  Well, 
it  must  be  done,  and  Bessie  is  well  worth  it;  hut  if  it  had 
not  been  for  this  war  I  could  ne^■er  have  managed  it.  Ah  I 
1  did.  \v<di  to  give  my  voice  for  war.  I  am  sorry  for  the 
girl:k"s.  hi'.'  it  must  1>;' ;  tlieie  iriust  be  no  living  witness 
left.  Ah'  've  are  going  to  have  a  storm.  So  much  the 
bettci-  Sucii  duc'ds  are  l)est  done  in  a  storm.  ’ 

Muller  was  ri.ght;  the  storm  was  coming  i  p  fast,  throw^ 


JUSS. 


1* 


153 


ing  a  veil  of  inky  cloud  across  the  star-spangled  sky.  In 
South  Africa  there  is  but  little  twilight,  and  the  darkness 
follows  hard  upon  the  heels  of  the  day.  No  sooner  had  the 
grefit  angry  ball  of  the  sun  linally  disappeared  than  the  night 
swept  vdth  all  her  stars  across  the  sky.  And  now  after 
her  c^ame  the  great  storm,  covering  up  her  beauty  with  his 
blackness.  The  air  was  stitlingly  hot.  Above  was  a  starry 
space,  to  the  east  the  angry  bosom  of  the  storm,  in  which 
the  lightnings  were  already  playing  with  an  ince.ssant 
flickering  movement,  and  to  the  west  a  deep  red  glow, 
reflected  from  the  sunken  sun,  yet  lingered  on  the  ho¬ 
rizon. 

On  toiled  the  horses  through  the  gathering  gloom. 
Fortunately,  the  road  was  fairly  level  and  free  from  mud- 
holes,  and  Frank  Muller  rode  just  ahead  to  show  the  waj, 
his  strong,  manly  form  standing  out  clear  against  the  de¬ 
parting  western  glow.  Silent  was  the  earth,  silent  as 
death.  No  bird  or  beast,  no  blade  of  grass  or  breath  of  air 
stirred  upon  its  surface.  The  only  sign  of  life  was  the  con¬ 
tinual  flickering  of  those  awful  tongues  of  light  as  they 
licked  the  lips  of  the  storm.  On  for  mile  after  mile,  on 
through  the  desolation !  They  could  not  be  far  from  the 
river  now,  and  could  catch  the  distant  growling  of  the 
thiu'jder,  echoing  solemnly  dovvu  it. 

It  was  an  awful  night.  Great  pillars  of  mud-colored 
cloud  came  creeping  across  tlie  surface  of  the  veldt  toward 
them,  seemingly  blown  along  without  a  wind.  And  n.ow, 
too_,  a  ghastly  lookitig  ringed  moon  arose  and  threw  a 
weird,  distorted  light  upon  the  blackness  that  seemed  to 
shudder  in  her  rays  as  tliough  with  a  prescience  of  tlio  ad¬ 
vancing  terror.  On  crept  the  mud-colored  columns,  and 
on  above  them,  and  restisig  on  them,  camo  the  muttei-ing 
storm.  The  cart  was  quite  close  to  the  river  now,  and  they 
could  plainly  hear  its  murmur.  To  their  left  was  a  koppie, 
covered  with  white,  slab-like  stones,  on  which  the  sickly 
moonbeams  danced. 

“Look,  .JohTt,  look!”  cried  Jess  with  a  h3’sterical  laugh; 
“  it  looks  like  a  huge  gravejmrd,  and  the  dark  shadows  be¬ 
tween  are  the  ghosts  of  the  buried.” 

“  Nonsense,”  said  John  sternl}^;  “  what  do  j’oti  mean  by 
talking  such  rubbish?” 

He  felt  she  Avas  a  little  off  her  balance,  and  what  is 
more,  he  was  getting  rath.er  off  his  own,  and  therefore  was 
iiaturalL,^  t!ie  angrier  Avith  her,  and  the  more  determined 
to  bo  perfectly  matter  of-fact. 

J;'.,-;s  made  no  ansAver,  but  she  was  frightened,  she  could 
not  tell  Avhy.  The  Avhole  thing  resembled  some  aAvful 
dream,  or  one  of  Lore’s  piedures  come  to  life.  Ko,.doubt. 
tlie  near  presence  of  the  storm  exercised  an  effect 


!66 


JESS. 


upon  her  nerves.  Even  the  wearied  horses  snorted  and 
shook  themselves  uneasily. 

They  crept  over  the  rid?:e  of  a  wave  of  land,  and  the 
wheels  rolled  softly  on  the  grass. 

“Why,  we  are  off  the  road!”  shouted  John  to  Muller, 
who  Avas  still  guiding  them,  fifteen  or  twenty  paces  ahead. 

“All  right!  all  right!  it  is  a  short  cut  to  the  ford!”  he 
called  in  answer,  and  his  voice  rang  strange  and  hollow 
through  the  great  depths  of  the  silence. 

Below  them,  a  hundred  j'ards  away,  the  light,  such  as  it 
was,  gleamed  faintly  upon  the  wide  surface  of  the  river. 
Another  five  minutes  and  they  Avere  on  its  shore,  but  in 
the  gathering  gloom  they  could  not  make  out  the  opposite 
bank. 

“Turn  to  the  left!”  shouted  Muller;  “the  ford  is  a  feAV 
yards  up.  It  is  too  deep  here  for  the  horses.” 

John  turned  accordingly,  and  followed  Muller’s  horse 
some  three  hundred  yards  up  the  bank  till  they  came  to  a 
spot  where  the  water  ran  with  an  angry  music,  and  there 
was  a  great  swirl  of  eddies. 

“  Here  is  the  place,”  said  Muller;  “  you  must  make  haste 
through.  The  house  is  just  the  other  side,  and  it  Avill  be 
better  to  get  there  before  the  tempest  breaks.” 

“  It’s  all  very  AA^ell,  ”  said  John,  “  but  I  can’t  see  an  inch 
before  me;  I  don’t  knoAv  Avhere  to  drive.” 

“  Drive  straight  ahead ;  the  Avater  is  not  more  than  three 
feet  deep,  and  there  are  no  rocks.” 

“  I  am  not  going,  and  that  is  all  about  it.” 

“  You  must  go.  Captain  Niel.  You  cannot  stop  here,  and 
if  you  can  we  cannot.  Look  there,  man!”  and  he  pointed 
to  the  east,  which  uoav  presented  a  truly  aAvful  and  mag¬ 
nificent  sight. 

Down,  right  on  to  therp,  its  center  bowed  out  like  the 
belly  of  a  sail  by  the  Aveight  of  the  Avind  behind,  sAveptthe 
great  storm-cloud,  while  over  all  its  surface  the  lightning 
played  unceasingly,  appearing  and  disappearing  in  needles 
of  fire,  and  twisting  and  w  rithing  serpentAvise  round  and 
about  its  outer  edges.  So  brilliant  was  the  intermittent 
light  that  it  appeared  to  fire  the  revolving  pillars  of  mud- 
colored  cloud  beneath,  and  gave  ghastly  peeps  of  ri\'er  and 
bank  and  plain,  miles  upon  miles  away.  But  perhaps  the 
most  awful  thing  of  all  Avas  the  preternatural  silence.  The 
distant  muttering  of  thunder  that  they  had  heard  had  died 
away,  and  now  the  great  storm  sAvept  on  in  silent  majesty, 
like  the  passage  of  a  ghostly  host,  from  Avhich  there  arose  no 
sound  of  feet  or  rolling  of  Avheels.  Only  before  it  sped  the 
swift  angels  of  the  wind,  and  behind  it  sAvung  the  curtain 
of  the  rain. 

Ev'ea  as  Muller  spoke  a  gust  of  icy  air  caught  the 


JESS. 


157 


and  tilted  it,  and  the  lightning  needles  began  to  ply  more 
dreadfully  than  ever.  The  stoi-m  was  breaking  upon 
them. 

■■  Come,  get  on,  get  on!"  he  shouted,  “  you  will  be  killed 
here;  the  lightning  always  strikes  along  the  water;"  and 
.  as  he  said  it  he  struck  one  of  the  av heelers  sharply  with  his 
whip. 

■  ‘  Climb  OA^er  the  back  of  the  seat,  Mouti,  and  stand  by 
to  help  me  with  the  reins!"  sang  out  John  to  the  Zulu,  who 
obeyed,  getting  betAveen  him  and  Jess. 

"  Noav,  Jess,  hang  on  and  say  your  prayers,  for  it  strikes 
me  AA’^e  shall  have  need  of  them.  So,  horses,  so!" 

The  horses  backed  and  plunged,  but  Muller  on  the  one 
side  and  the  smooth-faced  Boer  on  the  other  lashed  them 
without  mercy,  and  at  last  in  they  Avent  into  the  river  with 
a  rush.  The  gust  had  passed  noAv,  and  for  a  moment  or 
tAvo  there  Avas  reneAved  silence,  except  for  the  Avhirl  of  the 
water  and  the  snakelike  hiss  of  the  coming  rain. 

For  a  few  yards,  ten  or  fifteen  perhaps,  all  went  well, 
and  then  John  suddenl}'  discovered  that  they  Avere  getting 
into  deep  Avater;  the  two  leaders  Avere  evidently  almost  oft 
their  legs,  and  could  scarcely  stand  against  the  curi’ent  of 
the  flooded  river. 

“Damn  you!"  he  shouted  back,  “there  is  no  drift 
here.  ’  ’ 

“Go  on,  go  on,  it  is  all  right!"  came  Muller’s  A^oice  in 
answer. 

John  said  no  more,  but,  putting  out  all  his  strength, 
tried  to  get  the  horses  round.  Jess  turned  herself  on  the 
seat  to  look,  and  just  then  came  a  blaze  of  lightning  which 
revealed  Muller  and  his  two  companions  standing  dis¬ 
mounted  on  the  bank,  the  muzzles  of  their  rifles  pointing 
straight  at  the  cart. 

“  Oh,  God !"  she  screamed,  “they  are  going  to  shoot  us !” 

EA-^en  as  the  Avoi’ds  passed  her  lips  three  tongues  of  flame 
flared  out  from  the  rifles’  mouths,  and  the  Zulu  Mouti, 
sitting  by  her  side,  pitched  heavily  forward  onto  his  head 
into  the  bottom  of  the  cart,  while  one  of  the  av heelers 
reared  straight  up  into  the  air  Avith  a  shriek  of  agony,  and 
came  down  Avith  a  splash  into  the  river. 

And  then  followed  a  scene  the  horror  of  Avhich  baffles 
my  poor  pen.  Overhead  the  storm  burst  in  fury,  and 
flash  after  flash  of  fork,  or  rather  chain  lightning,  fell  into 
the  riv'er.  The  thunder,  too,  began  to  crack  like  the 
trump  of  doom;  the  Avind  rushed  down,  tearing  the  surface 
of  the  water  into  foam,  and,  catching  under  tlie  tent  of  the 
cart,  lifted  it  clean  off  the  Avheels,  so  that  it  began  to  float. 
■Then  the  two  leaders,  made  mad  Avith  fear  by  the  fury  of 
^the  storm  and  the  dying  struggles  of  the  off- wheeler. 


i 


158 


JESS. 


plunged  and  lore  at  the  traces  till  they  actually  rent  them 
selves  loose  and  vanished  bet  ween  the  darkness  overhead 
and  the  boiling  v/ater  beneath.  Away  floated  the  cart, 
now  touching  the  bottom  and  now  riding  on  the  water 
like  a  boat,  oscillating  this  way  and  that,  and  slowly  turn¬ 
ing  round  and  round.  With  it  floated  the  dead  horse, 
dragging  down  the  other  wheeler  beneath  the  water.  It 
was  awful  to  see  his  struggles  in  the  glare  of  the  lightning, 
but  at  last  he  sank  and  choked. 

And  meanwhile,  sounding  sharp  and  clear  across  the  din 
and  hubbub  of  the  storm,  came  the  cracking  of  the  three 
rifles  whenever  the  flashes  showed  the  whereabouts  of  the 
cart  to  the  murderers  on  the  bank.  Mouti  was  lying  still 
in  the  bottom  on  the  bed -plank,  a  bullet  between  his  broad 
shoulders  and  another  in  his  skull;  but  John  felt  that  his 
life  was  yet  whole  in  him,  though  something  had  hissed 
past  his  face  and  stung  it.  Instinctively  he  reached  across 
the  cart  and  drew  Jess  on  to  his  knee,  and  cowered  over 
her,  thinking  dimly  that  perhaps  his  body  would  protect 
her  from  the  bullets. 

Rip!  rip!  through  the  wood  and  canvas;  phut!  phut) 
through  the  air;  but  some  merciful  power  protected  them, 
and  though  one  cut  John’s  coat  and  two  passed  through 
the  skirt  of  Jess’  dress,  not  a  bullet  struck  them.  And 
very  soon  the  shooting  began  to  grow  wild,  and  then  that 
dense  veil  of  rain  came  down  and  wrapped  them  so  close 
that  even  the  lightning  could  not  show  their  whereabouts 
to  the  assassins  on  the  bank. 

“Stop  shooting,”  said  Prank  Muller:  “the  cart  has 
sunk,  and  there  is  an  end  of  them.  No  human  being  can 
have  lived  through  that  tire  and  the  Vaal  in  flood.” 

The  two  Coers  ceased  firing,  and  the  Unicorn  shook  his 
head  softly  and  remarked  to  his  companion  that  the 
damned  English  people  in  the  water  could  not  be  much 
wetter  than  they  were  on  the  bank.  It  was  a  curious 
thing  to  say  at  such  a  moment,  but  probably  the  spirit  that 
animated  the  remark  was  not  so  much  callousness  as  that 
which  animated  Cromwell,  who  flipped  the  ink  in  his 
neighbor’s  face  when  he  signed  the  death-warrant  of  his 
king. 

The  Vilderbeeste  made  no  reply.  His  conscience  was  op¬ 
pressed;  he  had  a  touch  of  imagination.  He  thought  of 
the  soft  fingers  that  had  bound  up  his  head  that  morning; 
the  handkerchief — her  haiidkerchief ! — was  still  around  it. 
Now  those  fingers  would  be  gripping  at  the  slippery  stones 
of  the  Vaal  in  their  death-struggle,  or  probably  they  were 
already  limp  in  death,  with  little  bits  of  gravel  sticking  be¬ 
neath  the  nails.  It  was  a  painful  thought,  but  he  coiisuled 
himself  by  thinking  of  the  warrant,  and  also  by  the  rcflec 


J'ESS. 


159 


tion  that  whoevtir  had  shot  the  people  he  had  not,  for  h© 
had  been  caretul  to  fire  wide  of  the  cart  every  time. 

Muller  was  also  thinking  of  the  warrant  which  he  had 
forged.  He  must  get  it  back  somehow,  even  if - 

“Let  us  take  shelter  under  the  bank  there.  There  is  a 
flat  place,  about  fifty  yards  up,  where  the  bank  lies  over. 
This  rain  is  drowning  us.  We  can’t  up-saddle  till  it 
clears.  I  must  have  a  nip  of  brandy  too.  Almighty!  I 
can  see  that  girl's  face  now!  the  lightning  shone  on  it  just 
as  I  shot.  Well,  she  will  be  in  heaven  now,  poor  thing,  if 
English  people  ever  go  to  heaven.” 

It  was  the  Unicorn  who  spoke,  and  the  Vilderbeeste 
made  no  reply,  but  advanced  with  him  to  where  the 
horses  stood.  They  took  the  patient  brutes  that  were 
waiting  for  their  masters,  their  heads  well  down  and  the 
water  streaming  from  thvora,  and  led  them  along  with 
them.  Prank  Muller  stood  by  his  own  horse  thinking,  and 
watched  them  vanish  into  the  gloom.  How  was  he  to  get 
that  warrant  back  without  dyeing  his  hands  even  redder 
than  they  were? 

As  he  thought  an  answer  came.  For  at  that  moment, 
accompanied  by  a  fearful  thunderclap,  there  sliot  from  the 
Btorm  overhead,  which  liad  now  nearly  passed  away,  one 
of  those  awful  flashes  that  sometimes  end  an  African 
tempest.  It  lit  up  the  whole  scene  round  as  light  as  day, 
and  right  in  the  white  heart  of  it  Muller  saw  his  two  com¬ 
panions  in  crime  and  their  horses  as  the  great  king  saw  the 
men  in  the  furnace.  They  were  about  forty  paces  from 
him  on  the  crest  of  the  bank.  He  saw  them,  one  moment 
erect;  the  next — men  and  horses  falling  this  way  and  that 
prone  to  the  earth.  And  then  it  Ava,s  all  dark  again.  Ho 
stagger’ed  with  the  shock,  and  when  it  had  passed  rushed 
to  the  spot,  calling  the  men  by  name;  but  no  answer  came 
except  the  echo  of  his  voice.  He  was  there  now,  and  the 
moonlight  began  to  struggle  faintly  through  the  rain.  Its 
pale  beams  lit  upon  two  outstretched  forms — one  lying  on 
its  back,  its  distorted  features  gazing  up  to  heaven,  the 
other  on  its  face.  By  them,  the  legs  of  the  nearest  stick¬ 
ing  .straight  into  the  air,  lay  the  two  horses.  They  had  all 

tone  to  their  account.  The  lightning  had  killed  them,  as  it 
ills  many  an  innocent  man  in  Africa. 

Frank  Muller  looked;  and  then,  forgetting  about  the 
warraiii;  aiui  everything  else  in  the  horror  of  what  he  took 
to  be  :i  visible  judgment,  rushed  to  his  horse  and  galloped 
^iidiy  away,  pursued  by  all  the  terrors  of  hell. 


28© 


JESS. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 

The  firing  from  the  bank  had  ceased,  and  John,  whcstM 
kept  his  head  (being  a  rather  phlegmatic  specimen  of  thj 
Anglo-Saxoi^  race),  realized  that,  for  the  moment  at  any 
rate,  all  danger  from  that  source  was  ended.  Jess  lay  per¬ 
fectly  still  in  his  arms,  her  head  upon  his  breast;  and  a 
horrible  idea  struck  him  that  she  might  be  shot,  perhaps 
already  dead ! 

“Jess,  Jess,”  he  shouted,  through  the  turmoil  of  the 
storm,  “  are  you  all  right?” 

She  lifted  her  head  an  inch  or  two — “I  think  so,”  she 
said.  “  What  is  going  on?” 

“God  only  knows,  I  don’t.  Sit  still,  it  will  be  aU 
square.” 

But  in  his  heart  he  knew  that  it  was  not  “  all  square,” 
and  that  they  were  in  imminent  danger  of  death  from 
drowning?  They  were  whirling  down  a  raging  river  in  a 
cart.  In  a  few  moments  it  was  probable  that  the  cart 
would  upset,  and  then - 

Presently  the  wheel  bumped  against  something,  and  the 
cart  gave  a  great  lurch  and  then  scraped  along  a  little. 

“  Now  for  it.”  thought  John,  for  the  water  was  pouring 
over  the  flooring.  Then  came  a  check,  and  the  cart  leant 
etill  further  to  one  side. 

Crack !  The  pole  had  gone,  and  the  cart  swung  round 
bows,  or  l  ather  box,  on  to  the  stream.  Vthat  had  hap¬ 
pened  was  this:  they  had  stuck  across  a  rock  that  pro¬ 
jected  up  from  the  bed  of  the  river,  the  force  of  the  cur¬ 
rent  having  washed  the  dead  horses  to  the  one  side  and 
the  cart  to  the  other.  Consequently  they  were  anchored 
to  the  rock,  as  it  were,  the  anchor  being  the  dead  horses, 
and  the  cable  the  stout  traces  of  untanned  leather.  So 
long  as  these  traces  and  the  rest  of  the  harness  held  they 
were,  comparatively  speaking,  safe;  but  of  course  they 
did  not  know  this.  Indeed,  they  knew  nothing.  Above 
them  rolled  the  storm,  and  round  them  the  waters  seethed 
and  the  rain  hissed.  They  knew  nothing  except  that  they 
were  helpless  living  atoms  tossing  between  the  wild  wa 
ters  and  the  wilder  night,  with  imminent  death  staring 
them  in  the  face,  around,  above,  and  below.  To  and  fro 
they  swung,  locked  fast  in  each  other’s  arms,  and  as  they 
did  so  came  that  awful  flash  that,  though  they  knew  it 
not,  sent  two  of  the  murderers  to  their  account,  and  for 
an  instant,  even  through  the  sheet  of  rain,  illumined  the 
space  of  boiling  water  and  the  long  lines  of  the  banks  on 
either  side.  It  showed  the  point  of  rock  to  which  they 


JESS. 


161 


were  fixed,  it  glared  upon  the  head  of  one  of  the  poor 
horses  tossed  up  by  the  driving  current  as  though  it 
■were  trying  to  rise  from  its  watery  death,  and  revealed 
the  form  of  the  dead  Zulu,  Mouti,  lying  on  his  face,  one 
arm  hanging  over  the  edge  of  the  cart  and  dabbling  in 
the  water  that  ran  level  with  it,  in  ghastly  similarity  to 
some  idle  passenger  in  a  pleasure  boat,  who  lets  his  fin¬ 
gers  slip  softly  through  the  stream. 

In  a  second  it  was  gone,  and  they  were  once  more  in 
darkness.  But  then  by  degrees  the  storm  passed  off  and 
the  moon  began  to  shine,  feebly  indeed,  for  the  sky  was 
not  clear  washed  of  clouds,  which  still  trailed  along  in  the 
tracks  of  the  tempest,  sucked  after  it  by  its  mighty  draught. 
Still  it  was  lighter,  and  the  rain  gradually  thinned  till  at 
last  it  stopped.  The  storm  had  passed  in  majesty  down  the 
ways  of  tiie  night,  and  there  was  no  sound  round  them  but 
the  sound  of  rushing  water. 

“  John,  ”  said  Jess,  presently,  “  can  we  do  an^dhing?” 

“Nothing,  dear.” 

“Shall  we  escape,  John?” 

He  hesitated.  “  It  is  in  God’s  hands,  dear.  We  are  in 
.^rcat  danger.  If  the  cart  upsets  we  shall  be  drowned. 
5an  you  swim?” 

“No,  John.” 

“If  we  can  hang  on  here  till  daylight  we  may  get  ashore, 
If  those  devils  are  not  there  to  shoot  us.  I  do  not  think 
ihat  our  chance  is  a  good  one.” 

“  John,  are  you  afraid  to  die?” 

He  hesitated.  “  I  don’t  knovy  dear.  I  hope  to  meet  it 
like  a  man.” 

“Tell  me  what  you  truly  think.  Is  there  any  hope  for 
as  at  all?” 

Once  more  he  paused,  reflecting  whether  or  no  he  should 
speak  the  truth.  Finally  he  decided  to  do  so. 

“  I  can  see  none,  Jess.  If  we  are  not  drowned  we  are 
sure  to  be  shot.  They  will  wait  about  the  bank  tdl  morn¬ 
ing,  and  for  their  own  sakes  they  will  not  dare  to  let  us 
live.” 

He  did  not  know  that  all  that  was  left  of  two  of  them 
ovould  indeed  wait  for  many  a  long  year,  and  that  the  third 
liad  fled  aghast. 

“Jess,  dear,”  he  went  on,  “it  is  no  good  to  tell  lies. 
Our  lives  may  end  any  minute.  Humanly  speaking,  they 
rnist  end  before  the  sun  is  up.” 

The  words  were  awful  enough — if  the  reader  can  by  an 
effort  of  the  imagination  throw  himself  for  a  moment  into 
the  position  of  these  two,  he  will  perhaps  understand  how 
awful.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing,  when  in  the  full  flow  of 
^health  a,ni  youth,  to  be  suddenly  placed  face  toja^e  with  the 


JESS. 


cjrtointy  of  violent  death,  and  to  know  that  in  a  few  rnor& 
minutes  your  course  will  have  been  run,  and  that  you  will 
iave  (.‘.onimenced  to  explore  the  future,  which  may  prove 
to  be  even  worse,  because  more  enduring,  than  the  life  you 
are  now  quitting  in  agony.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing,  as  any 
who  have  ever  stood  in  such  a  peril  can  testify,  and  John 
felt  his  heart  sink  within  him  at  the  thought — for  death  is 
very  strong.  But  there  is  one  thing  stronger,  a  woman’s 
perfect  love.  Against  this  Death  himself  cannot  prevail. 
And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  now  as  he  fixed  his  cold  gaze 
Upon  Jess’  e^ms  they  answered  him  with  a  strange,  un¬ 
earthly  light.  She  feared  not  death,  so  that  she  might 
meet  him  with  her  beloved.  Death  was  her  hope  and  op¬ 
portunity.  Here  she  had  none;  there  she  might  have  all 
—or  sleep.  The  fetters  had  fallen  from  her,  struck  off  by 
an  overmastering  hand.  Her  duty  was  satisfied,  her  trust 
fidfilled,  and  she  was  free — free  to  die  with  her  beloved. 
Ay !  her  love  was  indeed  a  love  deeper  than  the  grave ;  and 
now  it  rose  in  all  its  strength,  standing  tiptoe  upon  the 
earth  ready,  v/hen  dissolution  had  Ibnt  it  wings,  to  soar  to 
love’s  own  star. 

“You  are  sure,  John?”  she  asked  again. 

“Yes,  dear,  yes.  Why  do  you  force  me  to  repeat  it?  I 
can  see  no  hope.” 

Her  arms  were  round  his  neck,  her  soft  curls  rested  oa 
his  cheek,  and  the  breath  from  her  lips  played  upon  his 
face.  Indeed  it  was  only  by  speaking  into  each  other’s 
eai’s  that  conversation  was  feasible,  OAving  to  the  rushing 
eound  of  the  waters. 

“Because  I  have  something  to  tell  you  Avhich  I  cannot 
tell  unless  we  are  going  to  die.  You  know  it,  but  I  want 
to  say  it  with  my  own  lips  before  I  die.  I  love  you, 
John,  I  love  jmu,  1  love  you;  and  I  am  glad  to  die  because 
I  can  die  vcith  you  and  go  away  with  you.” 

He  heard,  and  such  was  the  power  of  her  love,  that  his, 
which  had  been  put  out  of  mind  in  the  teri’or  of  that  hour, 
reawoke  and  took  the  color  of  her  OAvn.  He  too  forgot  the 
imminence  of  death  in  the  Avarm  presence  of  his  doAvn- 
trodden  pc*ssion.  She  was  in  his  arms  as  he  had  taken  her 
during  the  firing,  and  he  bent  his  head  to  look  at  her.  The 
moonlight  played  upon  her  pallid,  quivering  face,  and 
shoAved  that  in  her  eyes  from  Avhich  no  mail  could  look  upon 
and  turn  away.  Once  more — yes,  even  then — there  came 
over  him  that  feeling  of  utter  sui-render  to  the  SAveet 
mastery  of  her  will  that  had  possessed  him  in  the  sitting- 
room  of  the  Palatial.  But  now,  all  earthly  considerations 
having  faded  away,  he  no  longer  hesitated,  but  pressed  his 
lips  against  hers  and  kissed  lier  again  and  again.  It  Avas 
perhaps  as  wild  ai^pathetic  a  love-scene  as  gver  t  ]  lo  old 


JESS. 


163 


moon  abov'G  has  looked  upon.  There  they  were,  those 
two,  experiencing  the  fullest  and  acutest  joy  that  life 
hos  to  offer  in  the  actual  shadow  of  death.  Nay,  death 
was  present  with  them,  for  there,  beneath  their  feet,  half- 
hidden  by  the  water,  w^as  the  stiffening  corpse  of  the 
Zulu. 

To  and  fro  swung  the  cart  in  the  rush  of  the  swollen 
river,  up  and  down  beside  them  the  carcasses  of  the  horses 
rose  and  fell  with  the  swell  of  the  water,  on  whose  surface 
the  broken  moonbeams  played  and  quivered.  Overhead 
was  the  blue,  star-sown  depth  through  which  they  were 
waiting  presently  to  pass,  and  to  the  right  and  left  the  long 
broken  outlines  of  the  banks  stretched  away  till  at  last 
they  appeared  to  grow  together  in  the  gloom. 

But  they  heeded  none  of  these  things ;  they  remembered 
nothing  except  that  they  had  found  each  other’s  hearts, 
and  were  happy  with  a  wild  joy  it  is  not  often  given  to  us 
to  feel.  The  past  w'as  forgotten,  the  future  was  at  hand, 
and  between  the  one  and  the  other  was  spanned  a  bridge 
of  passion  made  perfect  and  sanctified  by  the  approaching 
end.  Bessie  was  forgotten,  all  things  were  forgotten  in 
that  consuming  fire. 

Let  those  who  would  blame  them  pause  awhile.  Why 
not?  They  had  kept  the  faith.  They  had  denied  them¬ 
selves  and  run  straightway  down  the  path  of  duty.  But 
the  compacts  of  life  end  with  life.  No  man  may  bargain 
for  the  beyond.  Even  the  marriage  service  shrinks  from 
it.  And  now  that  ho]3e  had  gone  and  life  was  at  its  ex- 
tremest  ebb,  why  should  they  not  take  their  happiness  be- 
foi-e  they  passed  to  the  land  where,  perchance,  all  things 
will  be  forgotten?  So  it  seemed  to  them;  if  indeed  they 
were  any  longer  capable  of  reason. 

He  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  she  laid  her  head  upon  his 
heart  in  that  mute  abandonment  of  worship  wliich  is 
sometimes  to  be  met  with  in  the  world,  and  is  redeemed 
from  vulgar  passion  by  an  indefinable  quality  of  its  own. 
He  looked  into  her  eyes  and  was  glad  to  have  lived,  ay, 
even  to  have  reached  this  hoiu*  of  death.  And  she,  lost  in 
the  depths  of  her  own  nature,  sobbed  out  her  passion-laden 
heart  upon  his  breast,  and  called  him  her  own,  her  own, 
liej’  very  own ! 

:(<  *  *  *  =l<  *  * 

And  so  the  long  hours  passed  unheeded,  till  at  last  a  new- 
bern  freshness  in  the  air  told  them  that  they  were  not  far 
from  dawn.  Tlio  deatli  they  were  waiting  for  had  not  yet 
com''.  It  must  now  be  very  near  at  hand. 

“  .M  hn.”  ske  wliispered  in  his  ear,  “do  you  think  that 


"■',U  shoot  us?” 


164 


JESS. 


“Yes/’  he  said,  hoarsely;  “they  must  for  theii  2wm 
safety.  ’  ’ 

“  I  wish  it  were  over.”  she  said. 

Suddenly  siie  started  back  from  his  arras  with  a  littl® 
cry,  causing  the  cart  to  rock  violently. 

“  I  foj’got,”  ghe  said;  “  you  can  swim,  though  I  cannot. 
Why  cannot  you  swim  to  the  bank  and  get  off  under  cover 
of  the  darkness?  It  is  not  more  than  fifty  yards,  and  the 
current  is  not  so  ^ ery  swift.” 

The  idea  of  escaping  without  Je.ss  had  never  occurred  to 
him,  and  now  that  she  suggested  it,  it  struck  him  as  so  ab¬ 
surd  that  he  acl  uall}'  broke  into  a  ghost  of  a  laugh. 

“Don't  talk  nonsense.  Jess,”  he  said. 

“Yes,  yes.  I  will.  Go!  You  must  go  \  It  does  not  mat¬ 
ter  about  me  now.  I  know  you  love  me,  and  I  can  die 
happy.,  I  will  wait  for  you.  Oh,  John!  wherever  I  am, 
if  I  have  any  life  and  any  remembrance  I  will  wait  for 
you.  Ne\  er  forget  that  all  your  life.  However  far  1  may 
seem  away,  if  1  live  at  all.  I  shall  be  waiting  for  you.  And 
now  go;  you  shall  go,  I  say  !  No,  I  will  not  be  disobeyed. 
If  you  will  not  go  I  will  throw  myself  into  the  water.  Oh, 
the  cart  is  turning  over!’’ 

“  Hold  on.  for  God’s  sake!”  shouted  John.  “  The  traces 
have  broken. ’’ 

He  was  right;  the  tough  leather  was  at  length  worn 
through  by  the  constant  rubbing  against  the  rock,  and  the 
strain  and  swaying  of  the  cart  on  the  one  side,  and  the 
dead  horses  on  the  other.  Round  it  spun,  broadside  on  to 
the  current,  and  immediately  began  to  heave  over,  till  at 
last  the  angle  was  so  sharp  that  the  dead  body  of  poor 
Mouti  slid  out  with  a  splash  and  vanished  into  the  dark¬ 
ness.  This  relieved  the  cart,  and  it  righted  for  a  moment, 
but  being  now  no  longer  held  up  by  the  bodies  of  the 
horses  or  by  t  he  sustaining  power  of  the  wind  it  began  to 
fill  and  sink,  and  at  the  same  time  to  revolve  round  and 
round.  John  realized  that  it  was  all  up,  and  that  to  stop 
in  the  cart  Amuld  only  mean  certain  death,  because  they 
would  be  held  under  water  by  the  canvas  tent.  So  witn 
a  devout  aspiration  for  assistance  he  seized  Jess  round  the 
waist  with  one  arm  and  sprang  oft’  into  the  water.  As  he 
did  so  the  cart  filled  and  sunk. 

“Lie  still,  for  Heaven’s  sake!”  he  .shouted,  as  they  rose 
i  3  the  surface. 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  dawn  which  was  now  creeping 
ever  the  earth  he  could  make  out  the  line  of  the  left  bank 
of  the  Vaal,  the  same  from  which  they  had  started  into 
tl^e  river  on  the  previous  night.  It  appeared  to  be  about 
forty  yards  away,  but  the  current  was  running  quite  six 
knots,  and  lized  that,  burdened  as  he  was,  it  would 


JESS. 


m 


fee  quite  impracticable  for  him  to  try  and  reach  it.  The 
only  thing  to  do  was  to  keep  afloat.  Luckily  the  water 
was  warm  and  he  was  a  strong  swimmer.  In  a  minute  or 
80  he  made  out  that  about  fifty  paces  ahead  some  rocks 
jutted  out  twenty  yards  into  the  bed  of  the  stream.  Then 
catching  Jess  by  the  hair  with  his  left  hand  he  made  his 
effort,  and  a  desperate  one  it  was.  The  broken  water 
boiled  furiously  round  the  rocks.  Presently  he  was  in  it, 
and,  better  still,  his  feet  touched  the  ground.  Next  second 
he  was  swept  off  them  and  rolled  over  and  over  at  the  bot¬ 
tom  of  the  river,  getting  sadly  knocked  about  against  the 
bowlders.  Somehow  he  struggled  to  his  legs,  still  retaining 
his  hold  of  Jess.  Twice  he  fell,  and  twice  he  struggled  up 
again.  One  more  effort — so.  The  water  was  only  up  to 
his  thighs  now,  and  he  was  obliged  to  half  carry  his  com¬ 
panion.  As  he  lifted  her  he  fmt  a  deadly  sickness  come 
over  him,  but  still  he  struggled  on  like  a  man,  till  at  last 
they  both  fell  of  a  heap  upon  a  big  flat  rock,  and  for  a 
while  he  remembered  no  more. 

When  he  came  to  himself  again  it  was  to  find  Jess,  who 
had  recovered  sooner  than  he  had,  standing  over  him  and 
chafing  his  hands.  Indeed,  as  the  sun  was  up  he  guessed 
that  he  must  have  lost  his  senses  for  some  time.  He  rose 
with  some  difficulty  and  shook  himself.  Except  for  some 
bruises  he  v'as  sound  enough. 

“Are  you  hurt?"  he  asked  of  Jess,  ayIio,  pale  and  faint, 
and  bruised,  her  hat  gone,  her  dress  torn  by  bullets  and 
the  rocks,  and  dripping  water  at  every  step,  looked  an  ex¬ 
ceedingly  forlorn  object. 

“  No,”  she  said  feebly,  “not  very  much.” 

He  sat  down  on  the  rock  in  the  sun,  for  they  were  both 
shivering  with  cold.  “  What  is  to  be  done?”  he  asked. 

“  Die,”she  said  fiercely;  “  I  meant  to  die— why  did  you 
not  let  me  die?  Ours  is  a  position  that  only  death  can  set 
straight.” 

“  Don’t  be  alarmed,”  he  said,  “  your  desire  will  soon  be 
gratified ;  those  murdering  villains  will  hunt  us  up  pres¬ 
ently.” 

The  bed  and  banks  of  the  river  were  clothed  with  thin 
layers  of  mist,  but  as  the  sun  gathered  power  these  lifted. 
The  spot  where  they  had  got  ashore  was  about  three  hun¬ 
dred  yards  below  that  where  the  two  Boers  and  their 
horses  had  been  destroyed  by  the  lightning  on  the  previous 
night.  Seeing  the  mist  lift,  John  insisted  upon  Jess 
crouching  with  him  behind  a  rock  so  that  they  could  look 
up  and  down  the  river  without  being  seen  themselves. 
Presently  he  made  out  the  forms  of  two  horses  grazing 
about  two  hundred  yards  away. 

“  Ah  ”  he  said,  “  I  thought  so;  the  devils  have  offsaddled 


JESS', 


im 

there.  Thank  Heaven  I  have  still  got  my  revolver,  and  tk® 
cartridges  are  watertight.  I  ijiean  to  sell  our  lives  as  dearly 
as  I  can.’ 

“  Why,  John,”  cried  Jess,  following  the  line  of  his  out¬ 
stretched  hand,  “  those  are  not  the  Boers’  horses,  they  ara 
our  two  leaders  that  broke  loose  in  the  water.  Look,  their 
collars  are  still  on.” 

”  By  Jove!  so  they  are.  Now  if  only  we  can  catch  them 
without  being  caught  ourselves  we  have  a  chance  of  getting 
out  of  this.  ” 

“  Well,  there  is  no  cover  about,  and  I  can’t  see  any  signs 
of  Boers.  They  must  have  been  sure  of  having  killed  us, 
and  gone  away.” 

Jolin  looked  round,  and  for  the  first  time  a  sense  of  hope 
began  to  creep  into  his  heart.  Perhaps  they  would  survive, 
after  all. 

”  Let’s  go  up  and  see.  It  is  no  good  stopping  here;  we 
must  get  some  food  somewhere.  I  feel  as  weak  as  a  cat.” 

She  rose  M'ithout  a  word,  and  taking  his  hand  they  ad¬ 
vanced  together  along  the  bank.  They  had  not  gone 
twenty  yards  before  John  gave  an  exclamation  of  joy,  and 
rushed  at  something  white  that  had  stuck  in  some  reeds. 
It  was  the  basket  of  food  which  had  been  given  to  them  by 
the  innkeeper's  wife  at  Heidelberg.  It  had  been  Avashed 
out  of  the  cart,  and  as  the  lid  Avas  fastened  nothing  had 
been  lost  out  of  it.  He  undid  it.  There  was  the  bottle  of 
three  star  brandy  untouched,  also  most  of  the  eggs,  meat, 
i,nd  bread,  which  last  Avas,  of  course,  sodden  and  worthless. 
It  did  not  take  long  to  get  the  cork  out,  and  then  John 
filled  a  broken  Avineglass  there  was  in  the  basket  half- full 
of  water  and  half  of  brandy,  and  made  Jess  drink  it,  with 
the  result  that  she  began  to  look  a  little  less  like  a  corpse. 
Next,  he  repeated  the  process  tAvice  on  his  own  account, 
and  instantly  felt  as  though  new  life  were  floAving  into  him. 
Thou  they  Avent  cautiously  on. 

The  horses  allowed  them  to  catch  them  Avithout  trouble, 
and  did  not  appear  to  be  any  the  worse  for  their  advent¬ 
ure,  though  the  flank  of  one  AA^as  grazed  by  a  bullet. 

“There  is  a  tree  doAvn  there  Avhero  the  bank  sheh^es 
over ;  we  had  better  tie  the  horses  up,  dress,  and  get  some 
breakfast.”  said  John,  almost  cheerfully;  and  accordingly 
they  proceeded  thither.  Suddenly  John,  Avho  Avas  ahead, 
started  back.  Avith  an  exclamation  of  fear,  and  the  horses 
began  to  snort,  for  there,  stark  and  stiff  in  death,  and 
already  SAvollen  and  discolored  by  decomposition— as  is 
sometimes  the  case  Avith  people  killed  by  lightning— tha 
rifles  in  their  hands  tAvisted  and  fused,  their  clothes  cut 
and  bloAvn  from  tht?  bodies  by  the  explosion  of  the  car- 
trid^ioc  t heir ^  bandoliers  -lay  the  two  Boers  themselves. 


JESS. 


16^ 


It  'vvas  a  terrifying  siglit,  and,  taken  in  conjunction  with 
their  own  remarkable  escape,  one  to  make  the  most  care¬ 
less  and  skeptical  reflect. 

■'  And  yet  there  are  people  who  say  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  a  God,  and  no  punishment  for  wickedness, ”  said 
John  aloud. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MSAi-rwrilLE. 

John,  it  will  be  remembered,  left  Mooifontein  for  Pre- 
fcoria  toward  the  end  of  December,  and  with  him  went  all 
the  life  and  light  of  the  place. 

“Dear  me,  13essie,”  said  old  Silas  Croft,  on  the  evening 
after  he  had  started,  “  the  place  seems  very  dull  witliout 
John  ’■ — a  remark  in  which  Bessie,  who  was  secretly  weep¬ 
ing  in  the  corner,  heai’tily  concurred. 

Then,  a  few  days  afterward,  came  the  nevv^s  of  the  in¬ 
vestment  of  Pretoria,  but  no  news  of  John.  They  ascer¬ 
tained  that  he  had  passed  Standerton  in  safety,  but  beyond 
that  nothing  could  bo  heard  of  him.  Day  after  day 
passed,  but  no  news,  and  at  last,  one  evening,  Bessie  broke 
out  in  a  passion  of  hysterical  tears. 

“  What  did  you  send  him  for?”  she  asked  of  her  uncle. 
“It  was  ridiculous — I  knew  it  was  ridiculous.  He  could 
not  help  Jess  or  get  her  b.ick;  the  most  that  could  lucppen 
was  that  they  both  rvould  be  shut  up  together.  And  now 
he  is  dead~I  kriow  that  those  Doers  have  shot  him — and  it 
is  all  your  fault!  And  if  ho  is  dead  I  will  never  speak  to 
you  again.  ’  ’ 

The  old  man  retreated,  somewhat  dismayed  at  this  out¬ 
burst,,  which  was  not  at  all  in  Bessie’s  style. 

“Ah,  well,”  he  said  to  himself,  “that  is  the  w.ay  of 
women;  they  turn  into  tigers  about  a  man.” 

There  may  have  been  truth  in  this  reflection,  but  a  tiger 
is  not  a  pleasant  domestic  pet,  as  poor  old  Silas  found  out 
during  the  next  two  months.  OJhe  more  Bessie  thought 
afl)Out  the  matter  the  more  incensed  she  grew  at  his  having 
sent  her  lover  away.  Indeed,  in  a  little  while  slie  quite 
forgot  that  she  had  herself  acquiesced  in  his  going.  In 
short,  her  temper  completely  gave  way  under  the  sti’ain, 
so  that  at  last  her  uncle  scarcely  dared  to  mention  John’s 
name. 

Meanwhile,  things  had  been  going  as  ill  without  as 
within.  First  of  all — that  was  tlie  day  after  John's  de¬ 
parture — two  or  three  loyal  Boers  and  an  English  store¬ 
keeper  from  Lake  Chrissie,  in  New  Scotland,  outspanned 
OJ-.  the  place  and  came  and  implored  Silas  Croft  to  fly  for 
his  life  into  Natal  wliile  there  was  yet  time.  They  said 


JESS. 


i(58 

that  the  Boers  Avoiild  certainly  shoot  any  Englishman  wh# 
might  be  sufficiently  defenseless.  But  the  old  man  wouM 
not  listen. 

“  I  am  an  Englishman — civis  Romamis  sum,'”  he  said  in 
his  sturdy  fashion,  “and  I  do  not  believe  that  they  will 
touch  me,  ^vho  have  lived  among  them  for  twenty  years. 
At  any  rate  I  amnot  going  to  run  away  and  leave  my  place 
at  the  mercy  of  a  pack  of  thieves.  If  they  shoot  me  they 
will  have  to  reckon  wdth  England  for  the  deed,  so  I  expect 
that  they  will  leave  me  alone.  Bessie  can  go  if  she  likes, 
but  I  shall  stop  here  and  see  the  rovr  through,  and  there’s 
an  end  of  it.” 

Whereon.  Bessie,  having  flatly  declined  to  budge  an 
inch,  the  loyalists  departed  in  a  hurry,  metaphorically 
wringing  their  hands  at  such  an  exhibition  of  ill-placed 
confidence  and  insular  pride.  This  little  scene  occurred  at 
dinner-time,  and  after  dinner  old  Silas  proceeded  to  hurl 
defiance  at  his  foes  in  another  fashion.  Going  to  a  cup¬ 
board  in  his  bedroom,  he  extracted  an  exceedingly  large 
Union  Jack,  and  promptly  advanced  witn  it  to  an  open 
spot  between  two  of  the  orange-trees  in  front  of  the  house, 
where  a  flag-staff  was  planted,  formed  of  a  very  tall  young 
blue-gum,  in  such  a  position  that  it  could  be  seen  for  milos 
around.  On  this  flag  staff  it  w'as  old  Silas’  habit  to  hoist 
the  Union  Jack  on  the  queen’s  birthday,  Christmas-day, 
and  other  state  occasions. 

“  Now,  Jantje,”  he  said,  when  he  had  bent  on  the  flag, 
“run  her  up,  and  ITl  cheer!”  and  accordingly,  as  the 
broad  flag  floated  out  on  the  breeze,  he  took  off  his  hat  and 
waved  it,  and  gave  such  a  “hip,  hip,  hoorah!”  in  his  sten¬ 
torian  tones  that  Bessie  came  running  down  from  the  house 
to  see  what  was  the  matter.  Nor  was  he  satisfied  with 
this,  but,  having  obtained  a  ladder,  he  placed  it  against  the 
post  and  sent  Jantje  up  it,  instructing  him  to  fasten  the 
rope  on  which  the  flag  was  bent  about  fifteen  feet  from  the 
ground,  so  that  nobody  should  get  at  it  to  haul  it  down. 

“There,”  he  said,  “I’ve  nailed  my  colors  to  the  ma^t, 
That  will  show  these  gentry  that  an  Englishman  lives  here. 

“  ‘  Confound  their  politics, 

Frustrate  their  knavish  tricks, 

God  save  the  Queen.’  ” 

“Amen,”  said  Bessie,  but  she  had  her  doubts  about  the 
wisdom  of  that  Union  Jack,  which,  whenever  the  wind 
blew,  streamed  out  a  visible  defiance  not  calculated  to 
soothe  the  breasts  of  excited  patriots. 

Indeed,  two  daj^s  after  that,  a  patrol  of  three  Boers,  spy- 
mg  the  ensign  whilst  yet  a  long  way  off,  came  galloping  up 
in  hot  haste  to  see  what  it  meant.  Silas  saw  them  coming, 
Sind,  tukiiioi.  his  rifle  in  his  hand,  went  an<^  '^tood  beneath 


JESS. 


169 


the  flag,  for  which  he  had  an  almost  superstitions  venera' 
tion,  feeling  sure  that  they  Avould  not  dare  to  meddle  either 
with  him  or  it. 

"^Viiat  is  the  meaning  of  tins,  Om  Silas?”  asked  the 
leader  of  the  three  men,  with  all  of  whom  he  was  perfectly 
acquainted. 

"It  means  that  an  Englishman  lives  here,  Jan.”  was  the 
answer. 

“Haul  the  dirty  rag  down  I”  said  the  man. 

“ I  will  see  you  damned  first!”  replied  old  Silas, 

Thereon  the  Boer  dismounted  and  made  for  the  dag-staff, 
only  to  find  Uncle  Croft’s  rifle  in  a  direct  line  "with  his 
«hest. 

“You  Avill  have  to  shoot  me  first,  Jan,”  he  said,  and 
thereon,  after  some  consultation,  they  left  him  and  went 
away. 

The  fact  was  that,  notwithstanding  that  he  was  an  En' 
glishman,  Silas  Croft  was  very  popular  with  the  Boers, 
most  of  whom  had  known  him  since  they  were  children, 
and  a  member  of  whose  Volksraad  he  had  twice  beem  It 
was  to  this  personal  popularity  that  he  owed  the  fact  that  he 
was  not  turned  out  of  his  house,  and  forced  to  choose  be¬ 
tween  servhig  against  his  countrymen  or  being  imprisoned 
and  otherwise  maltreated  at  the  very  commencement  of 
the  rebellion. 

For  a  fortnight  or  more  after  this  flag  episode  nothing  of 
any  importance  happened,  and  thei;i  came  the  news  of  the 
crushing  defeat  at  Lang's  Nek.  At  first,  Silas  Croft  would 
not  believe  the  news.  “No  general  coiild  have  been  so 
mad,”  he  said;  but  soon  the  report  was  amply  confirmed 
from  native  sources. 

Another  week  passed,  and  with  it  came  the  news  of  tho 
Briiish  defeat  at  Ingogo.  The  first  they  heard  of  it  was  on 
the  morning  of  February  8,  when  Jaiftje  brought  a  Kafir 
up  to  the  veranda  at  breakfast  time.  This  Kafir  said  that 
he  had  been  watching  the  fight  from  a  mountain;  that  the' 
English  were  completely  hemmed  in  and  fighting  well,  but 
that  “  their  arms  were  tired,”  and  they  would  all  be  killed 
at  night-time.  The  Boers,  he  said,  were  not  suffering  at  all 
—  the  English  could  not  “shoot  straight.”  After  hearing 
this  they  passed  a  sufficiently  miserable  day  and  evening. 
About  twelve  o’clock  that  night,  however,  a  native  spy 
Mr.  Croft  had  dispatched  came  back  Avith  the  report  that 
the  English  general  had  got  safely  back  to  camp,  having 
Buffered  heavily  and  abandoned  his  wounded,  many  of 
whom  had  died  in  the  rain,  for  the  night  after  the  battle 
was  wet. 

Then  came  another  long  pause,  during  \yhich  no  reliable 
cews  reached  them,  though  the  air  was  thick  with  rumors^ 


170 


JESS. 


and  old  Silas  was  made  happy  by  hearing  that  large  reeor 
forcemou'os  were  on  their  way  from  England. 

“Ah.  Bessie,  my  dear,  they  will  soon  sing  another  tnns 
now,”  he  said  in  great  glee;  “and  what’s  more,  it's  about 
time  they  did.  I  can’t  understand  what  the  soldiers  have 
been  about— I  can’t  indeed.” 

And  so  the  time  'wore  heavily  along  till  at  last  there 
came  a  dreadful  day  which  Bessie  will  never  forget  as 
long  as  she  lives.  It  was  the  20th  of  February— just  a 
week  before  the  final  disaster  at  Majuba  Hill.  Bessie  waa 
standing  idly  on  the  veranda,  looking  down  the  long 
avenue  of  blue-gums,  where  the  shadows  formed  a  dark 
network  to  catch  the  wandering  rays  of  light.  The  place 
looked  very  peaceful,  and  certainly  on  one  could  have 
known  from  its  appearance  that  a  bloody  war  was  being 
waged  wuthin  a  few  miles.  The  Kafirs  came  and  went; 
about  their  work  as  usual,  or  made  pretense  to;  but  now 
and  then  a  close  observer  might  see  them  stop  and  look 
toward  the  Drakensberg  and  then  say  a  few  words  to  their 
neighbor  about  the  wonderful  thing  that  had  come  to  pass 
that  the  Boers  were  beating  the  great  white  people,  who 
came  out  of  the  sea  and  shook  the  earth  with  their  tread. 
Whereon  the  neighbor  would  take  the  opportunity  to  relax 
from  toil  and  squat  down,  and  havq  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and 
relate  in  what  particular  collection  of  rocks  on  the  hillside 
he  and  his  waves  slept  the  last  night — for  wdien  the  Boers 
are  out  on  commando  the  Kafirs  will  not  sleep  in  their  huts 
jfor  fear  of  being  surpri.sed  and  shot  down.  Then  the  pair 
would  spend  half  am  hour  or  so  in  speculating  on  what 
would  be  their  fate  when  the  Boer  had  eaten  up  the  En¬ 
glishman  and  taken  back  the  country,  and  finally  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  they  had  better  emigrate  to  Natal. 

Bessie,  on  the  veranda,  noted  all  this  going  on,  every 
now  and  again  catching  snatches  of  the  lazy  rascals’  tall^ 
whicli  chimed  in  but  too  sadly  with  her  own  thoughts. 
Tprning  from  it  impatiently,  she  began  to  watch  the  hens 
marching  solemnly  about  the  drive,  followed  by  their 
broods.  This  picture,  too,  had  a  sanguinary  background, 
for.  under  an  orange-tree,  two  rival  cocks  were  fighting 
fui'iously.  They  always  did  this  about  once  a  week,  nor 
did  they  cea.se  from  troubling  till  each  retired,  temporarily 
blinded,  to  the  shade  of  a  separate  orange-tree,  where  they 
spent  the  rest  of  the  v/eek  in  recovering,  only  to  emerge 
■when  the  cure  was  effected  and  fight  their  battles  over 
again.  Meanwhile,  a  third  cock,  young  in  years  but  old 
in  wisdom,  who  steadily  refused  to  fight  w-hen  a In.'  !, 
looked  after  the  hens  in  disputis  To-day  the  tigh.t  w.-is 
particularly  ferocious,  and,  fearing  ih.at  the  com At.n.rs 
would  have  no  eyes  left  at  all  if  she  did  not  interfeme,  Itra 


JESS.  m 

eie  called  to  the  old  Boer  hound  v/ho  was  lying  in  the  sun 
on  the  veranda. 

“Hi.  Stomp,  Stomp — hunt  them,  Stomp!’’ 

_  Up  jumped  Stomp  and  made  a  prodigious  show  of  fu¬ 
riously  attacking  the  embattled  cocks ;  it  was  an  operation 
to  which  he  was  used,  and  which  afforded  him  constant 
amusement.  Suddenly,  however,  as  he  dashed  toward  the 
trees,  he  stopped  midway,  his  simulated  wrath  ceased,  and 
instead,  an  expression  of  real  disgust  came  upon  his  hon¬ 
est  face.  Then  the  hair  along  his  backbone  stood  up  like 
the  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine,  and  he  growled. 

‘  ‘  A  strange  Kafir,  I  expect,  ’  ’  said  Bessie  to  herself. 

Stomp  hated  strange  Kafirs.  She  had  scarcely  got  the 
words  out  before  they  were  justified  by  the  appearance  of 
a  native.  He  was  a  villainous -looking  fellow,  with  one 
eye,  and  nothing  on  but  a  ragged  pair  of  trousers  fastened 
round  the  waist  with  a  greasy  leather  strap.  In  his  wool, 
however,  ivere  stuck  several  small  distended  bladders 
such  as  are  generally  worn  by  medicine-men  and  witch¬ 
doctors.  In  his  left  hand  he  held  a  long  stick,  cleft  at  one 
end.  In  the  cleft  was  a  letter. 

"Come  here,  Stomp,”  said  Bessie,  and  as  she  did  so  a 
wild  hope  shot  across  her  heart  like  a  meteor  across  the 
night ;  perliaps  the  letter  was  from  J ohn. 

The  dog  obejmd  her  unwillingly  enough,  for  he  evidently 
did  not  like  that  Kafir;  and  when  he  saAv  that  Stomp  was 
well  out  of  the  way  the  Kafir  himself  followed.  He  was 
an  insolent  fellow,  and  took  no  notice  of  Bessie  beyond 
squatting  himself  down  upon  the  drive  in  front  of  her. 

"What  is  it?”  said  Bessie  in  Dutch,  her  lips  trembling 
as  she  spoke. 

“A  letter,”  answered  the  man. 

“ Give  it  to  me.” 

“  No,  missie,  not  till  I  have  looked  at  you  to  see  if  it  is 
right.  Light  yellow  hair  that  curls — one,”  checking  it  on 
his  fingers,  “yes,  that  is  right;  large  blue  eyes — hvo,  that 
is  right;  big  and  tall,  and  fair  as  a  star — yes,  the  letter  is 
for  you,  take  it,”  and  he  poked  the  long  stick  up  almost 
ir.to  her  face. 

“  Where  is  it  from?”  asked  Bessie,  with  sudden  suspicion, 
recoiling  a  step. 

“  Wakkerstroom  last.” 

V  Who  is  it  from?” 

“  Read  it,  and  you  will  see.” 

Bessie  took  the  letter,  w’hich  was  wrapped  up  in  a  piece 
of  old  newspaper,  from  the  cleft  of  the  stick  and  turned 
it  over  and  over  doubtfully.  Most  of  us  have  a  mistrust 
of  strange-looking  letters,  and  this  letter  \.’a.s  unusually 
(2trarige.  To  begin  with,  it  had  no  address  whateve»’  on 


17i 


JESS. 


the  dirty  envelope,  which  was  curious.  In  the  second 
place,  the  envelope  was  sealed  apparently  with  a  thres' 
penny  bit. 

“  Are  you  sure  it  is  for  me?"  asked  Bessie. 

"Yah,  yah -STire,  sure,"  answered  the  native,  with  5* 
riidc  laugh.  "  There  are  not  many  such  wliito  girls  in  tli4i 
Transvaal.  I  have  made  no  mistake.  I  have  'smelt  you 
out.’  "  And  he  began  to  go  through  his  catalogue—"  Yeh 
low  hair  that  curls  ’  etc.  — again. 

Then  Bessie  opened  the  letter.  Inside  was  an  ordinary 
sheet  of  paper  wi-itten  over  in  a  bold,  firm,  yet  slightly  un- 
practiced  writiiig  that  Bessie  knew  well  enough,  and  the 
sight  of  which  filled  her  with  a  presentiment  of  evil.  Ife 
Avas  h’rank  Muller's. 

She  turned  sick  and  cold,  but  could  not  choose  but  read 
as  follows; 

*'  Cam[)  near  Pretoria,  February  15. 

"  Dear  Miss  Bessie,  —I  am  sorry  to  have  to  write  to  j'ou, 
but  though  we  have  quarreled  lately,  and  also  your  good 
father,  I  think  it  my  duty  to  do  so,  and  send  this  to  j  our 
hand  by  special  runner.  Yesterday  was  a  sortie  made  by 
the  poor  folk  in  Pretoria,  Avho  are  now  as  thin  with  hunger 
as  the  high  veldt  oxen  just  before  spring.  Our  aians  wero 
again  victorious;  the  redcoats  ran  a.^^■ay  and  left  their  am¬ 
bulance  in  our  hands,  carrying  with  them  many  dead  and 
wounded.  Among  the  dead  was  the  Captain  Niel - ’’ 

Here  Bessie  gave  a  sort  of  choked  cry,  and  let  the  letter 
fall  OA'er  the  veranda,  to  one  of  the  posts  of  which  she 
clung  with  both  her  hands. 

The  ill-favored  native  below  grinned,  and  picking  the 
paper  up.  handed  it  to  her. 

yhe  took  it,  feeling  that  she  must  know  aU,  and  read  on 
like  one  who  reads  some  ghastly  dream; 

"  who  has  been  staying  on  your  uncle's  farm.  I  did  not  see 
him  killed  mv  self,  but  Jan  Vanzyl  shot  him.  and  Roi  Dirk 
Oosthuizen,  and  Carolus,  a  Hottentot,  saw  tliem  pick  him 
up  and  carry  hum  away.  They  say  he  was  quite  dead. 
For  this  I  feel  you  will  be  sorry,  but  it  is  the  chance  of 
war.  an  i  he  died  f'gh'ting  bravely.  Make  my  obedient 
compliments  to  yoTir  uncle.  We  parted  in  anger,  but  I 
hoi)o  in  tlie  new  circumstances  that  have  arisen  in  the  land 
to  show  liim  that  I.  for  one.  bear  no  anger.  Believe  ira, 
dear  xYLss  Bessie,  youi-  luanble  and  devoted  servant, 

"Frank  Muller." 

Bessie  Uirust  the  letter  into  the  pocket  of  her  dre;ss,  ami 
then  again  caught  hold  of  the  veranda  post,  and  supported 
her.self  by  it,  while  the  light  of  the  sun  seemed  to  visibly 
ft  e  out  c.f  ihf  day  before  her  eyes  and  replace  .vt.self  by  a 


JESS. 


178 


K 


oold  blackness  in  which  there  was  no  Dreak.  He  was 
dead !—  her  lover  was  dead.  The  glow  had  gone  from  her 
life  as  it  seemed  to  be  going  from  the  day,  and  she  was 
left  desolate.  She  had  no  knowledge  of  how  long  she  stood 
thus,  staring  with  wide  eyes  at  the  sunshine  she  could  not 
see.  ■  She  had  lost  her  count  of  time ;  all  things  were  phan¬ 
tasmagoria!  and  unreal;  all  that  she  could  realize  was 
this  one  overpowering,  crushing  fact — John  was  dead! 

“Missie,  ”  said  the  ill-favored  messenger  below,  fixing 
his  one  eye  upon  her  poor  sorrow-stricken  face,  and  yawn¬ 
ing. 

There  was  no  answer. 

“Missie,”  he  said  again,  “is  there  any  answer.  I  must 
be  going.  I  want  to  get  back  in  time  to  see  the  Boers  take 
Pretoria.” 

Bessie  looked  at  him  vaguely.  “  Yours  is  a  message  that 
needs  no  answer,”  she  said.  “  What  is,  is.” 

The  brute  laughed.  “No,  I  can’t  take  a  letter  to  the 
captain,”  he  said;  “I  saw  Jan  Vanzyl  shoot  him.  He  fell 
so,”  and  he  suddenly  collapsed  all  in  a  heap  on  the  path, 
in  imitation  of  a  man  struck  dead  by  a  bullet.  “I  can’t 
take  him  a  message,  missie,”  he  went  on,  rising,  “  but  one 
day  you  will  be  able  to  go  and  look  for  him  yourself.  I 
did  not  mean  that;  what  I  meant  was  that  I  could  take  a 
letter  to  Prank  Muller.  A  live  Boer  is  better  than  a  dead 
Englishman;  and  Frank  Muller  will  make  a  fine  husband 
for  any  girl.  If  you  shut  your  eyes  you  won’t  know  the 
difference.  ” 

“Go!”  said  Bessie,  in  a  choked  voice,  and  pointing  her 
hand  toward  the  avenue. 

Such  was  the  suppressed  energy  in  her  tone  that  the 
man  sprung  to  his  feet,  and  as  he  did  so,  interpreting  her 
gesture  as  an  encouragement  to  action,  the  old  dog. 
Stomp,  who  had  been  watching  him  all  the  time,  and  oc¬ 
casionally  giving  utterance  to  a  low  growl  of  animosity, 
flew  straight  at  his  throat  from  the  veranda.  The  dog, 
which  was  a  heavy  one,  struck  the  man  full  in  the  chest 
and  knocked  him  clean  backward.  Down  came  dog  and 
man  on  the  drive  together,  and  then  ensued  a  terrible 
scene,  the  man  cursing  and  shrieking,  and  striking  out 
at  the  dog,  and  the  dog  worrying  the  man  in  a  fashion 
that  he  was  not  likely  to  forget  for  the  remainder  of  his 
life. 

Bessie,  whose  energy  seemed  again  to  be  exhausted,  took 
ftbsolutely  no  notice  of  the  fray,  and  it  was  at  this  junct¬ 
ure  that  her  old  uncle  arrived  upon  the  scene,  together 
with  two  Kafirs— the  same  whom  Bessie  had  been  watch- 
sng  idling. 

“  Hullo!  hullo!”  he  halloed  out  in  his  stentorian  tones^ 


JESS. 


m 

what  is  all  this  about?  Get  off.  you  bruta!”  aua  wuat 
between  his  voice  and  the  blow’S  of  the  Kafirs  the  do^’  was 
persuaded  to  let  go  his  hold  of  the  man,  who  staggenvl  to 
his  feet,  severely  mauled,  and  bleeding  from  half  a  dozen 
bites. 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  say  anything,  but  picked  up 
his  sticks.  Then,  however,  having  first  sees  that  the  dog 
was  being  held  by  the  Kafirs,  he  turned,  his  face  stream¬ 
ing  with  blood,  his  one  eye  blazing  with  fury,  and,  shak¬ 
ing  both  his  clinched  fists  at  poor  Bessie,  broke  into  a 
scream  of  cursing. 

“You  shall  pay  for  this— Frank  Muller  shall  make  you 
pay  for  it.  I  am  his  servant.  I - ” 

“Get  out  of  this,  whoever  you  are,”  thundered  old 
Silas,  “or  by  Heaven  I  will  let  the  dog  on  you  again!” 
and  he  pointed  to  Stomp,  who  was  struggling  wildly  with 
the  two  Kafirs. 

The  man  paused  and  looked  at  the  dog,  and  then,  with 
a  final  shake  of  the  fist,  departed  at  a  run  dowTi  the 
avenue,  turning  once  only  to  look  if  the  dog  was  coming.^ 

Bessie  vacantly  watched  him  go,  taking  no  more  notice 
of  it  than  she  had  of  the  noise  of  the  fighting.  Then,  as 
though  struck  by  a  thought,  she  turned  and  went  into  the 
sitting-room. 

“What  is  all  this  about,  Bessie?”  said  her  uncle,  follow¬ 
ing  her.  “  What  does  the  man  mean  about  Frank  Muller?” 

“It  means,  uncle  dear,”  she  said  at  last,  in  a  voice  that 
was  something  between  a  sob  and  a  laugh,  “that  I  am  a 
widow  before  I  am  married.  John  is  dead!” 

“  Dead  I  dead  I”  said  the  old  man,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
forehead  and  turning  round  in  a  dazed  sort  of  fashion, 
“John  dead  1” 

“  Bead  the  letter,”  said  Bessie,  handing  him  Frank  Mul¬ 
ler's  missive. 

The  old  man  took  it  and  read  it.  His  hand  shook  so 
much  that  it  took  him  a  long  while  to  come  to  the  end  of  it. 

“Good  God!”  he  said  at  last,  “ivhat  a  blow!  My  poor 
Bessie,”  and  he  took  her  into  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 
Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him.  “Perhaps  it  is  all  one 
oi  Frank  Muller’s  lies,”  he  said,  “  or  perhaps  he  made  a 
mistake.” 

But  Bessie  made  no  answer.  For  the  time,  at  any  rate, 
hope  had  left  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

FRANK  MULLER’S  FAMILIAR, 

The  study  of  the  conflicting  elements  that  go  to  make  up 
character  like  Frank  Muller’s,  however  fa-scinaiivig  it 


-.ESS. 


mip;ht  prove,  is  not  one  that  can  be  attempted  fn  do! ail 
hero.  Such  a  character  in  its  developed  teriu  i-;  lortu 
nate/y  practically  impossible  in  a  highly  civilised  ('ormtry. 
The  dead  weight  of  the  law  would  crusli  it  back  to  llie 
level  of  the  human  mass  around  it.  But  those  who  have 
lived  in  the  wild  places  of  the  earth  will  be  acquainted 
with  its  prototypes,  more  especially  in  those  places  where 
a  handful  of  a  superior  race  rule  over  the  dense  thousands 
of  an  inferior.  Solitudes  ai'e  favorable  to  the  production 
of  strongly  marked  individualities.  The  companionship  of 
highly  developed  men,  on  the  coutrar}^,  whittles  individu' 
alities  away;  the  difference  between  their  gi'owth  being 
the  difference  between  the  growth  of  a  tree  on  a  plain  and 
a  tree  in  the  forest.-  On  the  plain  the  tree  takes  the  innate 
bent  of  its  nature.  It  springs  in  majesty  tovcard  the  skies; 
it  spreads  itself  around,  or  it  slants  along  the  earth,  just  as 
nature  intended  that  it  should,  and  in  accordance  with  the 
power  of  the  providential  breath  that  bends  it.  In  the  for¬ 
est  it  is  different. 

There  the  tree  grows  toward  the  light,  wherever  the 
light  may  be.  Forced  to  modify  its  natural  habit  in  obe¬ 
dience  to  the  pressure  of  circumstances  over  which  it  has 
no  control,  it  takes  such  form  and  height  as  its  neighbors 
will  allow  to  it,  all  its  enez'gies  being  directed  to  the 
preservation  of  life  in  any  shape  and  at  any  sacrifice. 
Thus  is  it  with  us  all.  Left  to  ourselves,  or  surrounded 
only  by  the  scrub  of  humanity,  we  become  outwardly  that 
which  the  spirit  within  would  fashion  us  to,  but,  placed 
among  our  fellows,  shackled  by  custom,  restrained  by  law, 
pruned  and  bent  by  the  force  of  public  opinion,  we  grow 
as  like  one  to  another  as  the  fruit  bushes  on  a  garden 
wall.  The  sharp  angles  of  our  characters  are  fretted  away 
by  the  friction  of  the  crowd,  and  we  become  round,  raid 
polished,  and  superficially,  at  any  rate,  identical.  We  no 
loziger  resemble  a  solitary  bowlder  on  a  plain,  but  are  as  a 
stone  built  into  the  great  edifice  of  civilized  society. 

The  place  of  a  man  like  Frank  Muller  is  at  the  junction 
of  the. waters  of  civilization  and  barbarism.  Too  civilized 


to  posse.ss  those  savage  virtues  which,  such  as  they  are, 
represent  the  quantum  of  innate  good  Nature  has  thought 
fit  to  allow  in  the  mi.vture,  Man;  and  too  barbarous  to 
be  subject  to  the  tenderer  restraints  of  cultivated  society, 
he  is  at  once  strong  in  the  strength  of  both  aiul  rveak 
in  their  w’-eaknesses.  Animated  by  the  spirit  nt  b.ai’barism, 
superstition ;  and  almost  entirely  destitute  ol  v!;e  sju.rit  of 
civilization,  incrcty,' he  stands  on  the  edge  of  both  and  rui 
affront  to  both,  as  terrific  a  morel  spectacle  ;5.-i  the  world 


C.an  aii'ord. 

Jle  ■  ';o  been  a  little  more  civilized,  with  his 


power  of 


'STS 


JESS. 


evil  trained  by  education  and  cynical  reflection  to  defy 
the  attacks  of  those  spasms  of  unreasoning  spiritual 
terror  and  unrestrainable  passion  that  have  their  natural 
dwelling-place  in  the  raw,  strong  mind  of  uncultivated  man, 
Frank  Muller  might  have  broken  upon  the  Avorld  as  a 
Napoleon.  Had  he  been  a  little  more  savage,  a  little 
further  removed  from  the  unconscious  but  present  in¬ 
fluence  of  a  progressive  race,  he  might  have  ground  his 
fellows  down  and  ruthlessly  destroyed  them  in  the  mad- 
ness  of  his  rage  and  lust,  like  an  Attila  or  a  T'Chaka.  As 
it  was  he  was  buffeted  between  two  forces  he  did  not  re¬ 
alize,  even  when  they  swayed  him,  and  thus  at  every  step 
in  his  path  towards  a  supremacy  of  evil  an  unseen  power, 
made  stumbling-blocks  of  weaknesses  which,  if  that  path 
had  been  laid  along  a  higher  or  a  little  lower  level  in  the 
scale  of  circumstance,  would  themselves  have  been  deadly 
weapons  of  overmastering  force. 

See  him,  as  with  his  dark  heart  filled  up  with  fears,  he 
thunders  along  from  the  scene  of  midnight  death  and  mur¬ 
der  his  brain  had  not  feared  to  plan  and  his  hand  to  exe¬ 
cute.  Onward  his  black  horse  strides,  companioned  by 
the  storm,  like  a  dark  thought  traveling  on  the  wings  of 
Night.  He  does  not  believe  in  any  God,  and  yet  the 
terrible  fears  that  spring  up  in  his  sotiI.  born  fungus¬ 
like  from  a  dew  of  blood,  take  shape  and  form,  and  seem 
to  cry  aloud,  “  We  are  the  messengers  of  the  avenging 
God."'''  He  glances  up.  High  on  the  black  bosom  of  the 
storm  the  finger  of  the  lightning  is  writing  that  a’wful 
name,  and  again  and  again  the  voice  of  the  thunder  reads 
it  out  aloud  in  spirit-shaking  accents.  He  shuts  his  dazed 
eyes,  and  even  the  falling  rhythm  of  his  horse’s  hoofs 
beats  out,  '"There  is  a  God!  there  is  a  God!"  from  the 
silent  earth  on  which  they  strike. 

And  so,  on  tlirough  the  tempest  and  the  night,  flying 
fi’om  that  which  no  man  can  leave  behind ! 

Jlt  *  4:  + 

It  was  near  midnight  when  Frank  Muller  drew  rein  at  a 
wretched  mud  hut  perched  by  itself  on  the  banks  of  the 
Vaal,  and  flanked  on  its  rear  by  an  equally  miserable 
shed.  The  place  was  silent  as  the  grave;  not  even  a  dog 
barked. 

“If  that  beast  of  a  Kafir  is  not  here,”  he  said,  aloud, 
“I  will  have  him  flogged  to  death.  Hendrik,  Hendrik!” 

As  he  called,  a  form  rose  up  at  his  very  feet,  causing  the 
weary  horse  to  start  back  so  violently  that  he  almost  threw 
his  rider  to  the  ground. 

“What  in  the  name  of  the  devil  are  you?”  almost 
shrieked  Frank  Muller,  whose  nerves,  indeed,  Avere  in  no 
condition  to  stand^fresh  shocks. 


JESS. 


irt 


“  It  IS  me,  Baas,”  said  the  form,  at  the  same  time  throw¬ 
ing  off  a  gray  blanket  in  which  it  was  enveloped,  and  re¬ 
vealing  the.  villainous  countenance  of  the  one-eyed  witch¬ 
doctor,  who  had  taken  a  letter  to  Bessie,  and  who  had  for 
years  been  Muller’s  body- servant,  and  followed  him  about 
like  a  shadow. 

‘'Curse  you.  you  dog!  Wliat  do  you  mean  by  hiding  up 
like  that?  It  is  one  of  your  infernal  tricks;  be  careful  ” — 
tapping  his  pistol  case — “or  I  shall  one  day  put  an  end  to 
you  and  your  witchcraft  together.” 

“  I  am  very  sorry.  Baas,”  said  the  man  in  a  whine,  “  but 
half  an  hour  ago  I  heard  you  coming.  I  don’t  know  what 
is  the  matter  v/ith  the  air  to-night,  but  it  sounded  as 
though  twenty  people  were  galloping  after  you.  I  could 
hear  them  all  quite  clear;  first  the  big  black  horse,  and 
then  all  those  who  came  after,  just  as  though  they  were 
hunting  you;  and  so  I  came  out  and  laydown  to  listen, 
and  it  was  not  till  you  were  quite  close  that  one  by  one 
the  others  stopped.  Perhaps  it  was  the  devils  who  gal- 
toped.” 

“Curse  you,  stop  that  wizard’s  talk,”  said  Muller,  his 
teeth  chattering  with  fear  and  agitation.  “  Take  the  horse 
and  clean  and  feed  him  well;  he  has  galloped  far,  and  we 
start  at  dawn.  Stop,  tell  me,  w'^here  are  the  lights  and  the 
brandy?  If  you  have  drunk  the  brandy  I  will  flog  you.” 

“They  are  on  the  shelf  on  the  left  as  you  go  in.  Baas, 
and  there  is  flesh  there  too,  and  bread.” 

Muller  swung  himself  from  the  saddle  and  entered  the 
hut,  pushing  open  tlie  cranky,  broken-hinged  door  with  a 
kick.  He  found  the  box  of  Tandstickor  matches  and, 
after  one  or  two  false  shots — due  chiefly  to  his  shaking 
hand — succeeded  in  getting  fire  and  lighting  a  coarse  dip 
such  as  the  Boers  make  out  of  mutton  1  at.  Near  the  candle 
was  a  bottle  of  peach  brandy  two  thirds  full,  and  a  tin 

Eannikin  and  a  jug  of  river  w'ater.  Seizing  the  pannikin, 
e  filled  it  half  full  of  spirit,  added  a  little  water,  and 
drank  the  mixture  oif.  Then  he  took  down  the  meat  and 
bread  from  the  same  shelf,  and,  cutting  some  of  each  off 
with  his  clasp-knife,  tried  to  eat.  But  he  could  not  eat 
much,  and  soon  gave  the  attempt  up,  consoling  himself  in¬ 
stead  with  the  brandy. 

“  Bah!”  he  said,  the  stuff  tastes  like  hell  fire;”  and  ho 
filled  his  pipe  and  sat  smoking. 

Presently  Hendrik  came  in  to  say  that  the  horse  was  eat¬ 
ing  well,  and  was  about  to  go  again,  when  his  master  beck¬ 
oned  liim  to  stop.  The  man  was  surprised,  for  Muller  was 
no<  iu  nerallv  fond  of  his  society,  except  when  he  wanted 
I;  V :  uii/ him  or  get  him  to  exercise  his  pretended  art  of 
,  :i;  but  the  fact  was  that  at  that  moment  Frank 


JESS. 


m 


•A 


Hnller  would  have  been  ^lad  to  consort  witir  a  do^.  The 
events  of  the  night  had  brought  this  terrible  man,  steeped 
in  iniquity  from  his  youth  up,  down  to  the  level  of  a  child 
friglitened  at  the  dark.  For  awhile  he  sat  in  silence,  the 
Kafir  squatted  on  the  ground  at  his  feet.  Presently,  how¬ 
ever,  the  doses  of  powerful  spirit'  took  effect  on  him,  and 
he  began  to  talk  more  unguai’dedly  than  was  his  custom, 
even  with  his  bla,ck  ‘familiar,’  Hendrik. 

“How  long  have  you  been  here?”  he  asked  of  his  re-, 
tainer. 

“  About  four  days,  Baas.”. 

“  Did  you  take  my  letter  to  Om  Croft’s?” 

“  Yah,  Baas.  I  gave  it  to  the  missie.” 

“What  did  she  do?” 

“  She  read  it,  and  then  stood  like  this,  holding  on  to  the 
veranda  pole;”  and  he  opened  his  mouth  and  one  eye,  and 
twisted  up  his  hideous  countenance  into  a  ghastly  imita¬ 
tion  of  Bessie’s  sorrow-stricken  face,  catching  hold  of  one 
of  the  posts  that  supported  the  hut  to  assist  in  the  per¬ 
formance. 

“  So  she  believed  it?” 

“  Surely.” 

“  What  did  she  do,  then?” 

“She  set  the  dog  on  me.  Look  here!  and  here!  and 
here!”  and  he  pointed  to  the  half-healed  scars  left  by 
Stomp's  sharp  fangs. 

Muller  laughed  a  little.  ‘  ‘  I  should  have  liked  to  have 
seen  him  worry  you,  you  black  cheat;  it  shows  her  spirit 
too.  I  suppose  you  are  angry,  and  want  to  have  a  re¬ 
venge?” 

“Surely.” 

“Well,  who  knows?  Perhaps  you  shall;  we  are  going 
there  to-morrow.” 

“  So,  Baas!  I  knew  that  before  you  told  me.” 

“We  are  going  there,  and  we  are  going  to  take  the 
place;  and  we  are  going  to  try  Uncle  Silas  by  court-martial 
for  flying  an  English  flag,  and  if  he  is  found  guilty  we  are 
going  to  shoot  him,  Hendrik.” 

“So,  Baas,”  said  the  Kafir,  rubbing  his  hands  in  glee, 
“  but  will  he  be  found  guilty?” 

“  I  don’t  know,”  murmured  the  white  man.  stroking  his 
golden  beard;  “  that  will  depend  upon  what  missie  to 
say;  and  upon  the  verdict  of  the  court,”  he  added,  by  way 
of  an  afterthought. 

“On  the  verdict  of  the  court,  ha!  ha!”  chuckled  his 
•wicked  satellite.  “On  the  verdict  of  the  court,  yer- !  yes! 
and  the  Baas  will  be  president,  ha!  ha!  One  i.cefi-;  no 
witchcraft  to  guess  the  verdict.  And  if  tlso  eo"!  ..  e  .'.vc 
Uncle  Silas  guilty,  who  will  do  the  shooting,  Baa ■  ■ 


JESS. 


179 


“I  have  not  thought  of  that;  the  time  has  not  come  to 
think  of  it.  It  does  not  matter;  anybody  can  carry  out 
the  sentence  of  the  law,” 

”  Baas,”  said  the  Kafir,  ”  I  have  done  much  for  you  and 
had  little  pay.  I  have  done  ugly  things.  I  have  read 
omens  and  made  medicines,  and  ‘smelt  out’  your  enemies. 
Will  tmu  grant  me  a  favor?  Will  you  let  me  shoot  Om 
Croft  if  the  court  finds  him  guilty?  It  is  not  much  to  ask. 
Baas.  I  am  a  clever  wizard,  and  deserve  my  pay.” 

‘‘  Why  do  you  want  to  shoot  him?” 

“Because  he  flogged  me  once,  j^ears  ago,  for  being 
a  witch-doctor,  and  the  other  day  he  hunted  me  off  the 
place.  Beside,  it  is  nice  to  shoot  a  white  man.  I  should 
like  it  better,”  he  went  on,  with  a  smack  of  the  lips,  “  if  it 
were  missie,  who  set  the  dog  on  me.  I  would — — ” 

In  a  moment  Frank  Muller  had  the  astonished  ruffian  by 
the  throat,  and  was  kicking  and  shaking  him  as  though  he 
were  a  toy.  His  brutal  talk  of  Bessie  had  appealed  to  such 
manliness  as  he  had  in  him,  and,  whatever  his  own  wicked¬ 
ness  may  have  been,  he  was  too  madly  in  love  with  the 
woman  to  let  her  name  be  taken  in  vain  by  a  man  whom, 
though  he  held  his  “  magic  ”  in  superstitious  reverence,  he 
yet  ranked  lower  than  a  dog.  With  his  nerves  sti’ung  to 
the  highest  possible  state  of  tension,  and  half  drunk  as  be 
was,  Frank  Muller  was  jio  more  a  person  to  be  played  with 
or  irritated  than  a  mad  bull. 

“You  black  beast!”  he  yelled,  “if  you  ever  dare  to 
mention  her  name  again  like  that  I  will  kill  you,  for  all 
your  witchcraft;”  and  he  hurled  him  with  such  force  up 
against  the  wall  of  the  hut  that  the  whole  place  shook. 
The  man  fell,  lay  for  a  moment  groaning,  and  then  ci'ept 
fi’oin  the  hut  on  his  hands  and  knees. 

Muller  sat  scowling  from  under  his  bent  brows  and 
watched  him  go.  When  he  was  gone  he  rose  and  fastened 
the  door  behind  him,  and  then  su.ddenly  burst  into  tears, 
the  result,  no  doubt,  of  the  mingled  effects  of  the  drink, 
mental  and  physical  exhaustion,  and  the  never-resting 

Eassion  (one  can  scarcely  call  it  love)  that  ate  away  at  his 
eart,  like  the  worm  that  dieth  not. 

“Oh,  Bessie,  Bessie!”  he  groaned,  “I  have  done  it  all 
for  you.  Surel}^  you  cannot  be  angry  when  I  have  killerl 
them  all  for  you ?  Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling!  If  you 
only  knew  how  I  love  you!  Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling!” 
and  in  an  agony  of  passion  he  flung  himself  down  on  the 
rough  pallet  in  the  corner  of  the  hut  and  sobbed  himself  to 
sleep. 

Somehow  Frank  Muller’s  evil  doing  did  not  make  him 
an\  the  happier,  the  fact  of  the  mat  ter  using  that  to  enjoy 
wickedness  a^man  must  be  not  only  without  consciftuc^ 


^0 


JESS. 


but  also  without  passion.  Now  Frank  Muller  was  tor¬ 
mented  with  fi.  very  effective  substitute  for  the  first,  super¬ 
stition.  and  hi’s  life  was  literally  overshadowed  by  the  last, 
for  the  beauty  of  a  girl  possessed  tbe  power  to  dominate 
his  wildest  moods  and  inflict  \ipou  him  torments  that  she 
herself  was  incapable  of  even  imagining. 

At  the  first  light  of  dawn  Hendrik  crept  humbly  into 
the  hut  and  Avoke  his  master,  and  within  half  an  hour  they 
were  across  the  Vaal  and  on  the  road  to  Wakkerstroom. 

As  the  light  increased  so  did  Muller’s  spirits  rise,  till  at 
last,  when  the  red  sun  came  up  in  glory  and  swept  away 
the  shadows,  he  felt  as  though  all  the  load  of  guilt  and 
fear  that  lay  at  his  heart  bad  departed  with  them.  He 
could  see  now  that  the  two  Boers  being  killed  by  the  flash 
of  lightning  was  a  mere  accident— a  happy  accident  in¬ 
deed;  for.  had  it’ not  been  for  that,  he  himself  would  have 
had  to  kill  them,  if  he  could  not  by  any  other  means  have 
got  the  warrant  from  them.  As  it  was  he  had  forgotten 
the  warrant  ,  but  it  did  not  matter  much,  he  reflected. 
Nobody  would  be  likely  to  find  the  bodies  of  the  two  men 
and  horses  under  the  lonely  bank  there.  Certainly  they 
wmuld  not  be  fomid  till  the  aasvogels  had  picked  them 
clean.  They  would  be  at  work  upon  them  by  now.  And 
if  they  were  found  it  was  probable  that  the  paper  would 
have  rotted  or  blov/u  away,  or.  at  the  worst,  be  so  discolored 
as  to  be  unreadable.  For  the  rest,  there  Avas  nothing  to  con¬ 
nect  him  Avith  the  murder,  now  that  the  two  accessories 
were  dead.  Hendrik  Avould  proA'e  an  alibi  for  him.  He 
was  a  useful  man,  Hendrik.  Besides.  Avho  AAmuld  belicA^e 
that  it  Avas  a  m\irder?  Two  men  AA’ere  escorting  an  English¬ 
man  to  the  river;  somehoAA’’  they  became  involved  in  a 
quari’el ;  the  Englishman  shot  them  and  they  shot  the  En¬ 
glishman  and  his  companion.  Then  the  horses  plunged 
into  the  Vaal  and  upset  the  cart,  and  there  Avas  an  end  of 
it.  He  could  see  noAV  how  Avell  things  had  gone  for  him. 
He  Avas  practically  placed  beyond  suspicion. 

And  then  he  fell  to  thinking  of  the  fruits  of  his  honest 
labors,  and  his  cheek  groAv  Avarm  Avith  the  mounting  blood, 
and  his  eyes  flashed  Avith  the  fire  of  youth.  In  two  days 
—forty-eight  hours — at  the  outside,  Bessie  wmuld  be  in  his 
arms.  He  could  not  miscarry  noAv;  he  Avas  in  absolute 
command  there.  Be, sides,  Hendrik  had  read  it  in  his 
omens  long  ago.*  Mooifontein  shoiild  be  stormed  on  the 
morroAv  if  that  were  necessary,  and  Oin  Silas  Croft  and 

*  It  is  not  a  very  rare  thing  to  meet  Avhite  men  in  South  Africa  who 
believe  more  or  less  in  the  efficacy  of  native  witchcraft,  and  who,  al¬ 
though  such  a  proceeding  is  forbidden  by  law,  will  at  a  pinch  not  hesi¬ 
tate  to  consult  the  witch-doctors  themselves,  especially  when  they  are 
desirous  of  discovering  some  lo.st  article. 


JESS. 


181 


Bepsie  should  be  taken  prisoners;  and  then  he  knew  how 
to  put  on  the  screw.  That  talk  about  shooting  on  the 
previous  night  had  been  no  idle  threat.  She  should  yield 
herself  to  him  or  the  old  man  should  die,  and  then  he 
would  take  her.  There  cotdd  be  no  legal  consequences 
from  that  now  that  the  British  government  was  surrender  ¬ 
ing.  It  would  be  a  meritorious  act  to  shoot  a  rebel  English- 
man. 

Yes,  it  was  all  plain  sailing  now.  How  long  had  it  taken 
him  to  win  her— three  years?  He  had  loved  her  for  three 
years.  Well,  he  would  have  his  reward;  and  then,  his 
mind  at  rest  about  his  passion,  he  would  turn  it  to  tho.se 
far-reaching,  ambitious  schemes,  of  which  the  end  was 
something  like  a  throne. 


CHAPTER  XXVir. 

SILAS  IS  CONVINCED. 

At  first  Bessie  was  utteidy  prostrated  by  the  blow  that 
had  fallen  on  her.  but  as  time  Avent  on  she  revived  a  little, 
for  hers  vras  a  sanguine  nature,  with  a  great  deal  of  elas¬ 
ticity  about  it.  Troubles  sink  into  the  souls  of  some  like 
water  into  a  sponge,  and  Aveigh  them  doAvn  almost  to  the 
grave.  From  others  they  run  off  as  the  Avater  would  if 
poured  upon  marble,  merely  Avetting  the  surface.  She 
was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  of  these,  but  rather  of  a 
substance  betAveen  the  two — a  healthy,  happy-hearted 
woman,  full  of  beauty  and  vigor,  made  to  bloom  in  tlie 
Bunshine,  not  to  languish  in  the  shadoAV  of  some  old  grief. 
Women  of  her  stamp  do  not  die  of  broken  hearts,  or  con¬ 
demn  themselves  to  lifelong  celibacy  as  a  sacrifice  to  the 
shade  of  the  departed.  If  No.  1  is  unfortunately  removed, 
they,  as  a  general  rule,  shed  many  a  tear  and  suffer  many 
a  pang,  and  after  a  decent  interval  very  sensibly  turn 
their  attention  to  No.  2. 

Still,  it  Avas  a  very  pale-faced,  quiet  Bessie  Avho  Avent  to 
and  fro  about  the  place  after  the  visit  of  the  one-eyed 
Kafir.  All  her  irritability  had  l(3ft  her  noAv;  she  no  longer 
jumped  down  her  uncle’s  throat  about  his  haA'ing  dis¬ 
patched  John  to  Pretoria.  Indeed,  on  that  very  evening, 
after  the  eAul  tidings  came,  he  began  to  reproach  himsel{ 
bitterly  in  her  presence  for  having  sent  her  lover  away, 
when  she  stopped  him. 

•  It  is  God’s  will,  uncle,”  she  said  quietly.  “You  only 
did  Avhat  it  was  ordained  that  you  should  do.”  And  then 
she  came  and  laid  her  sunny  head  upon  the  old  man’s 
shoulder  and  cried  a  little,  and  said  that  they  tAvo  Avere  all 
alone  in  the  Avorld  now;  and  he  comforted  her  in  the  best 
fashion  tiu't  he.  could.  It  was  a  curious  thijig  that 


JESS. 


18S 

neither  ot  tnem  thought  much  of  Jess  when  they  talked 
thus  about  being  alone.  Jess  was  an  enigma,  a  i.hing 
apai’t  even  trom  them.  When  she  was  there  she  was 
loved  and  allowed  to  go  her  own  way,  when  she  was  not 
there  she  seemed  to  fade  into  outer  darkness.  A  wall 
came  down  between  her  and  her  belongings.  Of  course 
they  w^ere  both  very  fond  of  her,  but  simple-natured  peo¬ 
ple  are  apt  to  shrink  involuntarily  from  what  they  cannot 
understand,  and  these  two  were  no  exception.  For  in¬ 
stance,  Bessie’s  affection  for  her  sister  was  a  poor  thing 
compared  to  the  deep  and  self-sacrificing,  though  often 
secret,  love  that  her  sister  showered  upon  her.  She  loved 
her  old  uncle  far  more  dearly  than  she  did  Jess,  and  it 
must  be  owmed  that  he  returned  the  compliment  with  in¬ 
terest,  and  in  those  days  of  heavy  trouble  they  drew 
nearer  to  each  other  even  than  before. 

But  as  time  went  on,  they  both  began  to  hope  again.  No 
further  news  of  John’s  death  reached  them.  Was  it  not 
possible,  after  all,  that  the  whole  story  was  an  invention? 
They  knew  that  Frank  Muller  w^as  not  a  man  to  hesitate 
at  a  lie  if  he  had  a  purpose  to  gain,  and  they  could  guess  in 
this  case  w'hat  the  purpose  was.  His  furious  passion  for 
Bessie  was  no  secret  fi-om  either  of  them,  and  it  struck 
them  as  at  least  possible  that  the  tale  of  John’s  death 
might  have  been  invented  to  forward  it.  It  was  not  prob¬ 
able,  more  especially  as  he  was  not  present  to  urge  his 
suit,  but  it  was  possible,  and,  however  cruel  suspense  may 
be,  it  is  at  least  less  absolutely  crushing  than  the  dead 
weight  of  certainty. 

One  Sunday — it  was  just  a  week  after  the  letter  came — 
Bessie  w^as  sitting  after  dinner  on  the  veranda,  Avhen  her 
quick  ears  caught  what  she  took  to  be  the  booming  of 
heavy  guns  far  aw'^ay  on  the  Drakensberg.  She  rose,  and 
leaving  tiie  house,  climbed  the  hill  behind  it.  On  reaching 
the  top  she  stood  and  looked  at  the  great  solemn  stretch  of 
mountains.  Away,  a  little  to  her  right,  was  a  square,  pre¬ 
cipitous  peak  called  Majuba,  which  was  generally  clothed 
in  clouds.  To-day,  however,  there  was  no  misl,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  that  it  was  from  the  direction  of  this  peak 
that  ilie  faint  rolling  sounds  came  floating  on  the  breeze. 
But  she  could  see  nothing;  the  mountain  seemed  as  ten- 
antless  and  devoid  of  life  as  the  day  when  it  first  towered 
up  upon  the  face  of  things  created.  Presently  the  sound 
died  away,  and  she  returned,  thinking  that  she  must  have 
been  deceived  by  the  echoes  of  some  distant  thunder 
storm. 

Next  day  they  learnt  from  the  natives  tliat  what  she  had 
heard  wa.s  Lhe  sound  of  the  big  guns  covering  the  flight  of 
the  Briiish  troops  down  the  precipitous  si''’  ..:  cT  Majuba^ 


183 


JESS. 

Mountain.  After  this  old  Silas  Croft  began  to  lose  heart  a 
little.  The  run  of  disaster  was  so  unrelieved  that,  even  his 
robust  faith  in  the  invincibility  of  the  English  arxns  was 
shaken. 

“  It  is  very  strange,  Bessie,”  he  said,  very  strange;  “but 
never  mind,  it  is  bound  to  come  right  at  last.  Our  govern¬ 
ment  is  not  going  to  knock  und('r  because  they  have  suf¬ 
fered  a  few  reverses.” 

Then  came  a  long  four  weeks  of  uncertaint.y.  The  air 
was  thick  with  rumors,  most  of  them  brought  by  natives, 
one  or  two  by  passing  Boers,  to  which,  however,  Silas 
Croft  declined  to  pay  any  attention.  Soon  it  became 
abundantly  clear,  however,  that  an  armistice  was  con¬ 
cluded  between  the  English  and  the  Boers,  but  what  were 
its  terms  or  its  object  they  were  quite  unable  to  decide. 
Silas  Croft  thought  that  the  Boers,  overawed  by  the  ad¬ 
vance  of  an  overwhelming  force,  meant  to  give  in  witliout 
further  fighting;  but  Bessie  shook  her  head. 

One  da}^— it  was  the  same  on  which  John  and  Jess  had 
left  Pretoria—a  Kafir  brought  news  that  the  ai'inistice  was 
at  an  end,  that  the  English  were  advancing  up  to  the  Nek  in 
thousands,  and  were  going  to  force  it  on  the  morrow  and 
relieve  the  garrisons — a  piece  of  intelligence  that  brought 
some  of  the  old  light  back  to  Bessie’s  eyes.  As  for  her 
uncle,  he  was  jubilant. 

”  The  tide  is  going  to  turn  at  last,  my  love,”  he  said, 
“and  we  shall  have  our  innings.  Well,  it  is  time  we 
should,  after  all  the  shame  and  loss  and  agony  of  mind  we 
have  gone  through.  Upon  my  word,  for  the  last  two 
months  I  have  been  ashamed  to  call  myself  an  Englishman. 
However,  there  is  an  end  of  it  now.  I  knew  that  they 
would  never  give  in  and  desert  us,”  and  the  old  man 
straightened  his  crooked  back  and  slapped  his  chest,  and 
looked  as  proud  and  gallant  as  though  he  were  five-and- 
tweuty  instead  of  seventy. 

The  rest  of  that  day  passed  without  any  further  news, 
and  so  did  the  following  two,  but  on  the  next,  which  was 
March  23,  the  storm  broke. 

About  eleven  o’clock  in  the  forenoon  Bessie  was  em¬ 
ployed  upon  her  household  duties  as  usual,  or  rather  she 
had  just  finished  them.  Her  uncle  had  returiuid  from 
making  his  after-breakfast  round  upon  the  farm,  and  was 
standing  in  the  sitting-room,  his  broad  felt  hat  in  one  hand 
and  a  red  pocket-handkerchief  in  the  other,  with  which 
he  was  polishing  his  bald  head,  while  he  chatted  with  Bessie 
through  the  open  door. 

“No  news  of  the  advance,  Bessie,  dear?” 

“No  unole.”  she  replied,  with  a  sigh,  and  -..ue  eyes 


184 


JESS. 


\ 


filling  with  tears,  for  she  was  thinking  of  one  oi  whom  there 
Was  also  no  news. 

“  Well,  never  mind.  Tlie.^e  things  lake  a  little  time, 
especially  witli  our  soldiers,  who  move  so  slowly.  I  dare 
say  chat  there  was  some  delay  v.m.iting  for  guns  or  a,rama- 
nicion  or  something.  I  e.vpect  th.a.t  we  shall  hear  some¬ 
thing  by  to-night - ” 

Tie  had  got  as  far  as  this,  when  suddenly  the  figure  of 
Jautje  appeared,  flying  up  the  passage  in  the  extremity  of 
terror  and  haste. 

"  De  Boreen,  Baas,  doBoreeu!”  (the  Boers, master,  tho 
Boens)  he  shouted.  "  The  Boer.'^  are  coming  with  a  wagon, 
twenty  of  them  or  more,  with  Frank  Muller  at  their  li.iad 
on  his  black  horse,  and  Hans  Coetzee,  and  the  wizard  with 
one  eye  with  him.  I  was  hiding  behind  a  tree  at  the  end 
of  1  he  avenite,  and  I  saw  them  coming  over  the  rise.  They 
are  going  to  take  the  place!”  And,  without  waiting  to 
give  any  further  explanations,  he  slipped  through  tho 
house  and  hid  himself  up  somewhere  at  the  back  out  of 
the  way;  for  Jantje,  like  most  Hottentots,  was  a  sad  cow¬ 
ard. 

The  old  man  stopped  rubbing  his  head  and  stared  at  Bes¬ 
sie,  who  was  standing  pale  and  tremblitig  in  the  doorway. 
Just  then  he  heard  the  patter  of  running  feet  on  the  drivo 
mitsido,  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  It  was  caused  by 
th(i  passing  of  some  half-dozen  Kafirs  who  wei-e  working 
an  the  place,  and  who,  on  catching  sight  of  the  Boers,  had 
promptly  thrown  down  their  tools  and  were  flying  to  tlie 
hills.  Even  as  they  pa.ssed  a  shot  was  fired  somewhere 
from  the  direction  of  the  avenue,  and  the  last  of  the  Kafirs, 
H  lad  of  about  twelve,  suddenly  threw  up  his  hands  and 
pitched  forward  on  to  his  face,  with  a  bullet  between  hia 
shoulder-blades. 

Bessie  heard  the  shout  of  “Good  shot,  good  shot!”  and 
the  brutal  laughter  that  greeted  his  fall,  and  the  tramping 
of  the  horses  as  they  came  up  the  drive. 

“Oh.  uncle!”  she  said,  “what  shall  we  do?” 

The  old  man  made  no  answer  at  the  moment,  but  going 
to  a  rack  upon  the  wall,  reached  down  n  Westley -Richards 
falling-block  rifle  that  hung  there.  Then  he  sat  down 
in  a  wooden  arm-chair  that  faced  the  French  window  open¬ 
ing  on  to  the  veranda,  and  beckoned  to  her  to  come  to 
him. 

“We  will  meet  them  so,”  he  said.  “  They  shall  see  that 
we  are  not  afraid  of  them.  Don’t  be  frightersed,  dear,  they 
will  not  dare  to  harm  us;  they  will  be  afraid  of  the  con.se- 
quences  of  harming  English  people.” 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  month  when  tao 
ca.valcad<'  began  to  appear  m  front  of  tho  wliMc^w,  led,  as 


JESS. 


.35 


Jf  rs^v’e  had  said,  by  Frank  Muller  on  his  blnck  horse,  ac¬ 
companied  by  Hans  Coetzee  on  the  fat  pony,  and  the  vil- 
lainoiis-lookijig  Hendrik,  mounted  on  a  nondescr’pt  sort 
of  animal,  and  carrying  a  gun  and  an  assegai  in  his  hand. 
Beiund  these  were  a  body  of  about  fifteen  or  sixteen  armed 
iTiOn,  among  whom  Silas  Croft  recognized  most  of  his 
neighbors,  by  whose  side  he  h<id  lived  for  years  in  peace 
and  amity. 

Opposite  the  house  they  stopped  and  began  looking  about. 
They  could  not  see  into  the  room  at  once,  on  account  of  the 
bright  light  outside  and  the  shadow  within. 

■■  1  fa,ncy  you  will  hud  the  birds  flown,  nephew,”  said  the 
fat  voice  of  Hans  Coetzee.  “They  have  got  warm ng  of 
yom-  little  vi.sit.” 

"They  cannot  be  far,”  answered  Muller.  ”  I  ha'  c  had 
them  watclied,  and  know  that  they  have  not  left  the 
place.  Get  down,  uncle,  and  look  in  the  house,  and  you 
too.  Hendrik.” 

Tlie  Kafir  obeyed  with  alacrity,  tumbling  out  of  his  .'^ad¬ 
dle  with  all  the  grace  of  a  sack  of  coals,  but  the  Boer  hesi¬ 
tated. 

"  Uncle  Silas  is  an  angry  man,”  he  ventured;  ”  he  miglit 
shoot  if  he  found  me  poking  about  his  iiouse.” 

"  Don't  .‘vnswej’  me!'’  thundered  Muller;  "  get  down  a-ud 
do  as  I  bid  yon  1" 

"Ah,  what  a  devil  of  a  man!”  murmured  the  unfortu¬ 
nate  Hans,  as  he  hurried  to  obey. 

Meanwliile,  Hendrik  the  one  eyed  had  jumped  upon  the 
veranda  and  was  peering  through  the  windows. 

"Here  they  are,  Baas;  here  they  are!”  he  sung  out; 
”  the  old  cock  and  the  i)ullet.  tool”  and  he  gave  a  kick  to 
the  window,  which,  b>  ing  unlatched,  swung  wide  open,  re¬ 
vealing  the  old  man  sitting  there  in  his  wooden  arm-chair 
with  Bessie  standing  at  his  side,  his  rifie  on  his  knees,  and 
holding  his  faii'-haired  niece  by  the  hand.  Fi'ank  Muller 
dismounted  and  came  on  to  the  veranda,  and  beliind  him 
crowded  up  a  dozen  or  more  of  his  followers. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  want,  Frank  Muller,  that  you  come 
to  my  house  with  all  these  armed  mend’  asked  Silas  Croft, 
from  his  chair. 

‘‘I  call  upon  you,  Silas  Croft,  to  surrender  to  take  your 
trial  as  aland  betrayer  and  a  rebel  against  tlie  republic,” 
was  the  answer.  "  I  am  sorry,”  he  added,  with  a  bow  to¬ 
ward  Bessie,  on  whom  his  eyes  had  been  fixed  all  the  lime, 
”  to  be  obliged  to  take  you  prisoner  in  the  presence  of  a 
lady,  but  my  duty  gives  me  no  choice.” 

"  I  do  not  know  -what  you  mean,  ”  said  the  old  man.  ‘  ‘  I 
am  a  subject  of  Queen  Victoria  and  an  Englishman.  How, 
then,  can  I  be  a  rebel  against  any  republic?  I  am  aii  En- 


188 


JESS. 


glishman,  1  say,”  he  went  on  with  rising  anger,  speaking  s<S 
high  that  his  powerful  voice  rang  till  every  Boer  there  could 
hear  it,  ‘‘  and  I  acknowledge  the  authority  of  no  republics. 
This  is  my  house,  and  I  order  you  to  leave  it.  I  claim  my 
rights  as  an  Englishman - ’’ 

“Here,”  interrupted  Muller,  coldly,  “Englishmen  have 
no  rights,  except  such  as  we  choose  to  allow  to  them.” 

“Shoot  him!”  cried  a  voice. 

“Treat  him  as  Buskes  treated  Van  der  Linden  at  Potchef- 
stroom!”  cried  another. 

“Yes  make  him  swallow  the  same  pill  that  we  gave  to 
Dr.  Barber,”  put  in  a  third. 

“  Silas  Croft,  are  you  going  to  surrender?”  asked  Muller 
in  the  same  cold  voice. 

“  Vo  /”  thundered  the  old  man  in  his  English  pride.  “  I 
surrender  to  no  rebels  in  arms  against  the  queen.  I  will 
shoot  the  first  man  who  tries  to  lay  a  finger  on  me!”  and 
he  rose  to  his  feet  and  lifted  his  rifle. 

“Shall  I  shoot  him.  Baas? — shall  I  shoot  him?”  asked 
the  one-eyed  Hendrik,  smacking  his  lips  at  the  thought, 
and  fiddling  with  the  rusty  lock  of  the  old  fowling-piece  he 
carried. 

Muller,  by  way  of  answer,  struck  him  across  the  fac«3 
with  the  back  of  his  hand.  “  Hans  Coetzee,”  he  said,  “go. 
and  arrest  that  man.” 

Poor  Hans  hesitated,  as  well  he  might.  Nature  had  not 
endowed  him  with  any  great  amount  of  natural  courage, 
and  the  sight  of  his  old  neighbor’s  rifle-barrel  made  him 
feel  positively  sick.  He  hesitated,  and  began  to  stammer 
excuses. 

“Are  you  going,  uncle,  or  must  T  denounce  you  to  the 
general  as  a  sympathizer  with  Englishmen?”  asked  Muller, 
in  malice,  for  he  knew  the  old  fellow’s  weaknesses  and 
cowardice,  and  was  playing  on  them. 

“  I  am  going.  Of  course  I  am  going,  nephew.  Excuse 
me,  a  little  faintness  took  me — the  heat  of  the  sun,”  he 
babbled.  “Oh,  yes,  I  am  going  to  seize  the  rebel.  Per¬ 
haps  one  of  those  young  men  would  not  mind  engaging 
his  attention  on  the  other  side.  He  is  an  angry  man — I 
know  him  of  old — and  an  angry  man  with  a  gun,  you  know, 
dear  cousin - ” 

“  Are  you  going?”  said  the  terrible  master  once  more. 

“Oh,  yes!  yes,  certainly  yes.  Dear  Uncle  Silas,  pray 

f)ut  down  that  gun,  it  is  so  dangerous.  Don’t  stand  there 
ooking  like  a  wild  ox.  but  come  up  to  the  yoke.  You  are 
old.  Uncle  Silas,  and  I  don’t  want  to  have  to  hurt  you. 
Come  now,  come,  come,”  and  he  held  out  his  hand  toward 
him  as  though  he  were  a  shy  horse  that  he  was  endeavor¬ 
ing  to  beguile. 


187 


JESS, 

“  Hans  Coetzee,  traitor  and  liar  that  you  are,  ’  said  tho 
©Id  man,  “  if  you  come  a  single  step  nearer,  by  God!  I  will 
put  a  bullet  through  you!” 

“Go  on,  Hans;  chuck  a  rim  over  his  head;  get  him  by 
the  tail ;  knock  him  down  with  a  yokeskei ;  turn  the  old 
b^ill  on  his  back!”  shouted  the  crowd  of  scoffers  from  the 
window,  taking  very  good  care,  however,  to  clear  off  to 
the  right  and  left  in  order  to  leave  room  for  the  expected 
bullet. 

Hans  positively  burst  into  tears,  and  Muller,  who  was 
the  only  one  who  held  his  ground,  caught  him  by  the  arm, 
and,  putting  out  all  his  strength,  sw^.ung  him  tOAvard  Silas 
Croft. 

For  reasons  of  his  own,  he  Avas  anxious  tlmt  the  latter 
Bhould  shoot  one  of  them,  and  he  chose  Hans  Coetzee, 
whom  ho  disliked  and  despised,  for  the  sacrifice. 

Up  went  the  rifle,  and  at  that  moment  Bessie,  Avho  had 
been  standing  bewildered,  made  a  dash  at  it,  knowing  that 
bloodshed  could  only  make  matters  Avorse.  As  she  did  so 
it  exploded,  but  not  before  she  had  shaken  her  uncle’s 
arm;  for,  instead  (s^f  killing  Hans,  as  it  undoubtedly  Avould 
otherwise  have  done,  the  bullet  only  cut  his  ear  and  then 
passed  out  through  the  open  Avindow- place.  In  an  instant 
the  room  was  filled  with  smoke.  Hans  Coetzee  clapped 
his  hand  to  his  heaal,  and  commenced  to  yell  with  pain  and 
terror,  and  in  the  confusion  that  ensued  three  or  four  men, 
headed  by  the  Kafir  Hendrik,  rushed  into  the  room  and 
sprang  upon  Silas  Ci’oft,  Avho  had  retreated  to  the  Avail, 
and  was  standing  Avith  his  back  against  it,  his  rifle,  Avhich 
he  had  clubbed  in  both  his  hands,  raised  above  his  head. 

When  his  assailants  got  close  to  him  they  hesitated,  for, 
aged  and  bent  as  he  was,  the  old  man  looked  like  mischief. 
He  stood  there  like  a  lion,  and  swung  the  rifle-stock  about. 
Presently  one  of  the  men  struck  at  him  and  missed  him, 
but  before  he  could  retreat  Silas  brought  down  the  stock 
of  the  rifle  on  his  head,  and  dowm  he  went  like  an  ox  be¬ 
neath  a  poleax.  Then  they  closed  on  him,  but  for  awhile 
he  kept  them  off,  knocking  down  another  man  in  his 
efforts.  As  he  did  so,  the  witch  doctor,  Hendrik,  Avho  had 
been  watching  for  his  opportunity,  brought  down  the  bar¬ 
rel  of  his  old  fowling-piece  upon  Silas’  bald  head  and  felled 
him.  Fortunately,  the  blow  Avas  not  a  yery  heavy  one*,  or 
it  Avould  hav^e  caAmd  his  skull  in.  As  it  was,  it  only  cut 
his  head  open  and  knocked  him  down.  Thereon  the  Avhole 
mass  of  Boers,  Avith  the  exception  of  Muller,  Avho  Avas 
standing  Avatching,  seeing  that  he  was  moav  defenseless,  fell 
upon  him  and  Avould  have  kicked  him  to  death  had  not 
Bessie  pz-ecipitated  hei'seif  upon  iiiin  Avith  -y,  aizd  . 
thi'own  her  arms  about  him  to  pi*otect  him. 


ISb 


JESS. 


Then  Frark  Muller  inteiTered.  fearing  lest  she  sliordd  0:3 
hurt.  Flanging  into  the  fray  v/ith  a  curse,  he  exercised 
his  great  strength,  throwing  tlie  men  this  way  a.nd  that 
like  uiuepiiis,  and  finally  dragging  Silas  to  his  feel  again. 

C’ome !”  lie  shouted,  “take  him  out  of  this;”  and  ac¬ 
cordingly,  with  taunts  and  curses  and  obloquy,  the  poor 
old  man,  vrhose  fringe  of  white  locks  was  red  with  blood, 
was  kicked  and  dragged  and  pushed  on  t,o  the  veranda, 
then  off  it  on  to  the  didve,  where  he  fell  over  the  bodj'  of 
the  murdered  Kafir  boy,  an<l  finally  hauled  up  to  the  open 
space  by  the  flagstaff,  on  which  the  Union  Jack,  that  ho 
had  planted  there  some  two  months  before,  still  waved 
bravely  in  the  breeze.  Here  he  sank  down  upon  tlie  grass, 
his  hack  against  the  flagstaff,  and.  asked  faintly  for  some 
water.  Bessie,  who  was  weeping  bitterly,  and  whose 
heart  felt  as,  though  it  were  bursting  with  anguish  and  iii- 
digiiatioii,  pushed  her  waiy  through  the  men,  and,  running 
to  the  house  got  some  in  a  glass  and  brought  it  to  him. 
One  of  the  brutes  tried  to  knock  it  out  of  her  hand,  but 
she  avoided  him  and  gave  it  to  her  uncle,  who  drank  it 
greedily. 

“Thank  you,  love,  thank  you,’’  he  said;  “don’t  be 
frightened,  I  ain’t  much  hurt.  Ah!  if  onl}'^  John  had  been 
hei-e,  and  we  had  had  an  hoiir’s  notice,  we  Avould  have 
held  the  place  against  them  all.” 

Meanwhile  one  of  the  Boers,  getting  on  the  shoulders  of 
another,  had  succeeded  in  untying  the  cord  o’l  which  the 
Union  Jack  was  bent  and  hauling  it  down.  Then  thej'’  re¬ 
versed  it  and  hoisted  it  half-mast  high,  and  began  to  cheer 
for  the  republic. 

“Perhaps  Uncle  Silas  does  not  know  that  we  are  a  re¬ 
public  again  now.”  said  one  of  the  men,  a  near  neighbor 
of  his  own,  in  mockery. 

“  What  do  you  mean  by  a  republic?”  asked  the  old  mau. 
“  The  Transvaal  is  a  British  colony.” 

There  was  a  hoot  of  derision  at  this.  “The  English 
Government  has  surrendered,”  said  the  same  man.  “  The 
country  is  given  up,  and  the  British  are  to  evacuate  in  six 
months.” 

“  It  is  a  lie!”  said  Silas,  springing  to  his  feet,  “a  cow 
ardly  lie  !  Whoever  says  that  the  English  have  given  up 
the  country  to  a  few  thousand  blackguards  like  you,  and 
deserted  its  subjects  and  the  loyals  and  the  natives,  is  a 
liar — a  liar  from  hell !” 

There  was  another  howl  of  mockery  at  this  outburst, 
and  when  it  had  subsided  Frank  Muller  stepped  forward. 

“  It  is  no  lie,  Silas  Croft,”  he  said,  “  and  the  cowards  are 
not  Ave  Boers,  who  have  beaten  you  ngniu  and  again,  but 
your  soldiers,  who  have  done  nothing  ’out  run  away,  and 


JESS. 


189 


your  government,  that  follows  the  example  of  your  sol¬ 
diers.  Look  here”— and  he  took  a  paper  out  of  his 
pocket — ‘'yon  know  that  signature,  I  suppose;  it  is  that 
of  one  of  the  triumvirate.  Listen  to  what  he  says,”  and 
he  read  aloud: 

“‘Well-beloved  Heer  Muller, — This  is  to  inform 
^ou  that,  by  the  strength  of  our  arras  fighting  for  the 
right  and  freedo.ra,  and  also  by  the  cowardice  of  the  Brit¬ 
ish  Government,  generals,  and  soldiers,  we  have  by  the 
will  of  the  Almighty  concluded  this  day  a  glorious  peace 
with  the  enemy.  The  British  Government  surrenders 
nearly  everything  except  in  the  name.  The  republic  is  to 
be  re-established,  and  the  s^oldiers  who  are  left  will  leave 
the  land  within  six  mouths.  Make  this  known  to  ovei'y 
one,  and  forget  not  to  God  for  our  glorious  victor¬ 

ies.’  ” 

The  Boers  shouted  aiotid,  as  well  they  might,  and  Bessie 
wrung  her  hands.  As  lor  the  old  man,  he  leant  against 
tiui  flagstaff,  and  jiis  gory  head  sank  upon  his  breast  as 
thoiigh  he  were  aoout  to  faint.  Theti  suddenly  he  lifted 
it,  and,  with  chneaed  and  quivering  fists  held  high  in  the 
air,  broke  out  into  such  a  torrent  of  blasphemy  and  curs¬ 
ing  that  even  the  Boers  fell  back  for  a  moment,  dismayed 
into  silence  by  the  force  of  the  fury  wrung  from  his  utter 
luuniliation. 

It  was  an  appalling  sight  to  see  this  good  and  god-fearing 
old  man,  his  face  bruised,  his  gray  hairs  dabbled  with 
blood,  and  his  clothes  nearly  rent  from  his  bod}^  stamp 
and  reel  to’  and  fro,  blaspheming  his  Maker,  and  the  day 
that  he  was  born;  hurling  execrations  at  his  beloved 
country  and  the  name  of  Englishman,  and  the  govern- 
me!it  that  had  deserted  liim.  till  at  last  nature  gave  out, 
ara.i  he  fell  in  a  fit,  there,  in  the  very  shadow  of  his  dis¬ 
honored  flag. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

BESSIE  IS  PUT  TO  THE  QUESTION. 

Meanwhile  anotlier  little  tragedy  was  being  enacted  afe 
the  back  of  the  house.  After  the  one  eyed  witch-doctor, 
Hendrik,  had  knocked  Silas  Croft  dowui  and  assisted  in  the 
pleasing  operation  of  dragging  him  to  the  flagstaff,  it  had 
occ'urred  to  his  villainous  heart  that  the  pre.sent  Avould  be 
a  good  opportunity'  to  profit  personally'  by  the  confusion, 
and  po.ssibly  to  add  to  the  Englishman’s  misfortunes  by 
doing  him  some  injury  on  his  own  account.  .-Vccordiugly, 
just  before  Frank  Muller  began  to  read  Ihe  dispatch  an- 
oouncing  the  English  surrender,  he  slipped  ;iwa,v  into  the 


190 


JESS. 


J 


house,  which  was  now  totally  deserted,  to  see  he 

could  steal.  Passing  into  the  sitting-room,  he  rmnexed 
Bessie’s  gold  watch  and  chain,  which  was  Pdug  on  the 
mantel-piece,  a  present  that  her  uncle  had  made  her  on  the 
Christmas  Day  before  the  last.  Having  pocketed  this  he 
proceeded  to  the  kitchen,  where  there  Avas  a  goodly  store 
of  silver  forks  and  spoons,  that  Bessie  had  been  engaged  in 
cleaning  that  morning,  lying  on  the  dresser  ready  to  be 
put  aAvay. 

These  he  also  transferred,  to  the  extent  of  several  dozen, 
to  the  capacious  pockets  of  the  tattered  military  greatcoat 
that  he  wore.  Whilst  doing  so  he  was  much  disturbed  by 
the  bai-king  of  the  dog  Stomp,  the  same  animal  that  had 
mauled  him  so  severely  a  few  weeks  before,  and  who  was 
noAv,  as  it  happened,  tied  up  to  his  kennel — an  old  wine- 
barrel — just  outside  the  kitchen  door.  Hendrik  peeped 
out  of  the  AvindoAv,  and,  haAung  ascertained  that  the  dog 
was  secured,  proceeded,  Avith  a  diabolical  chuckle,  to  settle 
his  account  Avith  the  poor  animal.  He  had  left  his  gun  be¬ 
hind  on  the  grass,  but  he  still  held  his  assegai  in  his  hand, 
and,  going. out  of  the  kitchen  door  Avith  it,  he  sboAved  liim- 
self  AAuthin  a  few  feet  of  the  kennel  The  dog  recognized 
him  instantly,  and  went  nearly  mad  AAuth  fury,  making  the 
most  desperate  efforts  to  break  its  chain  and  get  at  him. 
For  some  moments  he  stood  exciting  the  animal  by  derisive 
gestures  and  pelting  it  Avith  stones,  till  at  last,  fearing  that 
the  clamor  Avould  attract  attention,  he  suddenly  trans¬ 
fixed  it  Avith  his  spear,  and  then,  thinking  that  he  Avas 
quite  unobserved,  sat  down  and  snuffed  and  enjoyed  the 
luxury  of  Avatching  the  poor  beast’s  last  agonies. 

kit,  as  it  happened,  he  wms  not  quite  alone,  for  creeping 
^iOng  in  the  grass  and  rubbish  that  grew  on  the  further 
side  of  the  wall,  his  bi'OAAui  body  squeezed  tightly  against 
the  brown  stones — so  tightly  that  an  unpracticed  eve  'would 
certainly  haA'e  failed  to  observe  it  at  a  distance  of  a  tiozen 
paces — was  the  Hottentot  Jantje.  Occasionally,  too,  he 
Avould  lift  his  head  above  the  leA’el  of  the  wall  and  observe 
the  proceedings  of  the  one-eyed  man.  Apparently  he  was 
undecided  AA'hat  to  do.  for  he  hesitated  a  little,  and  wliilst 
lie  did  so  Hendrik  killed  the  dog. 

Noav  Jantje  had  all  a  Hottentot’s  naturaS  love  for  ani¬ 
mals,  which  is,  generally  speaking,  as  marked  as  U  the 
Kafir’s  callousness  tOAvard  them,  and  he  Avas  particularly 
fond  of  the  dog  Stomp,  which  always  A\-eiit  out  w  alking 
AAuth  him  on  those  rare  occasions  Avhen  he  thought  i-  safe 
or  desirable  to  walk  like  au  oruiuary  man  instead  of  creep¬ 
ing  from  bush  to  bush  like  a  panther,  or  Avriggiing  thT-nugh 
the  grass  like  a  snake.  The  sight  of  the  aniinarr.  .•..cuh, 
therefore,  raised  in  liis  black  breast  a  Arery  keen.  d<' 3  for 


JESS. 


191 


vengeance  on  the  murderer,  if  vengeance  coidd  be  enfelj 
accomplisiied ;  and  he  paused  to  redect  if  tins  could  be 
done.  As  he  did  so  Hendrik  got  np,  gave  the  dead  dog  a 
kick,  withdrew  his  assegai  from  the  carcass,  aiid  then,  as 
thongli  struck  by  a  sudden  tlesii-e  to  conceal  the  murder, 
undid  the  collar  and,  lifting  the  dog  in  his  arms,  carried 
him  witli  difficulty  into  the  house  and  laid  him  under  the 
ki  tchen-table. 

This  done,  he  came  out  again  to  the  wall,  which  ■was  built 
of  loose  unmortared  stones,  pulled  one  out  without  trouble, 
deposited  the  watch  and  the  silver  he  had  stolen  in  the 
cavity,  and  replaced  the  stone.  Next,  before  Jantje  could 
guess  what  he  meant  to  do,  he  proceeded  to  make  it  practi¬ 
cal!  impossible  for  his  robbery  to  be  discovered,  or  at  any 
rate  very  improbable,  by  lighting  a  match,  and,  having 
first  glanced  round  to  see  that  nobody  was  looking,  reach¬ 
ing  up  and  applying  it  to  the  thick  thatch  wirh  which  the 
house  itself  was  roofed,  and  of  which  the  fringe  just  here 
was  not  more  than  nine  feet  from  the  ground.  No  rain 
had  fallen  at  Mooifontein  for  several  days,  and  there  had 
been  a  hot  sun  and  dry  wind,  and  as  a  I'esult  the  thatch 
was  as  dry  as  tinder.  The  light  caught  in  a  second,  and  in 
\wo  more  a  thin  line  of  fire  was  running  up  the  roof. 

Hendrik  paused,  stepped  a  few  paces  back,  resting  his 
shoulders  against  the  wall,  immediately  the  other  side  of 
which  was  Jantje,  and  proceeded  to  chuckle  aloud  and  rub 
his  hands  as  he  admired  the  results  of  his  handiwork. 
This  was  too  much  for  the  Hottentot  on  the  further  side. 
Tlie  provocation  was  too  great,  and  so  was  the  opportunity. 
In  his  hand 'was  the  thick  stick  on  which  he  wuis  so  fond  of 
cutting  notches.  Eaising  it  in  both  hands,  he  brought 
the  heavy  knob  down  with  all  his  strength  upon  the  one- 
eyed  villain’s  unprotected  skull.  It  was  a  thick  skidl, 
but  the  knob  prevailed  against  it  and  fractured  it,  and 
down  went  the  estimable  wfitch  doctor  as  though  he  wei’e 
dead. 

Kf'xt,  taking  a  leaf  out  of  his  fallen  enemy’s  book,  Jant  je 
slipped  over  the  wall,  and,  seizing  the  senseless  man, 
dragged  him  by  one  arm  into  the  kitchen  and  rolled  him 
under  the  table  to  keep  company  A^  ith  the  dead  dog. 
Then,  filled  with  a  fearful  joy.  he  slipped  out.  shutting 
and  locking  the  door  behind  him,  and  crept  round  to  a 
point  of  vantage  in  a  little  plantation  seventy  or  eighty 
yaids  to  the  right  of  the  house,  whence  he  could  watch, 
the  conllagration  that  he  kncAv  mu.st  ensue,  for  the  fire 
had  taken  instant  and  irremediable  hold,  and  also  see  whafc 
the  Boers  were  doing. 

Ten  minutes  or  so  afterwards  that  amiable  charactei? 
Hendrik  partially  regained  his  senses,  to  find,  lumself  sur* 


JESS. 


ICS 

roinided  by  a  sea  of  fire,  in  which  he  perisheci  wisei'HDlT, 
not  having  power  to  move,  and  his  feeble  cries  being  totally 
gwallowed  np  and  lost  in  the  fierce  roaring  of  the  flames, 
even  had  there  been  anybody  there  to  hear  them.  And 
that  was  the  very  appropriate  end  of  Hendrik  and  the 
magic  of  Hendrik. 

Down  bj"  the  flagstaff  the  old  man  lay  in  his  fit,  with 
Bessie  tending  him  and  a  posse  of  Boers  standing  round, 
smoking  and  laughing  or  lounging  about  with  an  air  of 
lordly  superiority,  well  worthy  of  victors  in  possession. 

•‘Will  none  of  you  help  me  to  take  him  to  the  house?” 
she  cried.  “Surely  you  have  ill-treated  an  old  man 
enough.” 

Nobody  stirred,  not  even  Frank  Muller,  who  was  gazing 
at  her  tear-stained  face  with  a  fierce  smile  playing  round 
the  corners  of  his  clean-cut  mouth,  which  his  beard  was 
trimmed  to  leave  clear. 

“It  will  pass,  Miss  Bessie,”  he  said;  “it  will  pass.  I 
have  often  seen  such  fits.  They  come  from  too  much  ex¬ 
citement,  or  too  much  drink - ” 

Suddenly  he  broke  off  wuth  an  exclamation,  and  pointed 
to  the  hoiise.  from  the  roof  of,  which  pale  curls  of  blue 
smoke  were  rising. 

“Who  has  fired  the  house?”  he  shouted.  “  By  Heaven! 
I  ^Yill  shoot  the  man.” 

The  Boers  started  round  and  stared  in  astonishment,  and 
as  they  did  so  the  tinderlike  roof  burst  into  a  broad  sheet 
of  flame,  that  gi*ew  and  gathered  breadth  and  height  with 
an  almost  marvelous  rapidity.  Just  then,  too.  a  light 
breeze  sprung  up  from  over  the  hill  at  the  rear  of  the 
house,  as  it  sometimes  did  at  this  time  of  the  day,  and  bent 
the  flames  over  toward  them  in  an  immense  arch  of  fire,  se 
that  the  fumes,  and  heat,  and  smoke  began  to  beat  upon 
their  faces. 

“  Oh,  the  house  is  burning  dow7i !”  cried  Bessie,  utterly 
bewildered  by  this  new  misfortune. 

“Here,  you!”  shouted  Muller  to  the  gaping  Boers,  “go 
and  see  if  anything  can  be  saved.  Phew !  Avemust  get  out 
of  this,”  and  stooping  down  he  picked  up  Silas  Croft  in  his 
arms  and  walked  off  with  him,  followed  by  Bessie,  toward 
the  plantation  on  their  left,  which*  Avas  the  same  where 
Jantje  had  taken  refuge.  In  the  center  of  this  plantation 
was  a  little  glade  surrounded  by  young  orange  and  blue- 
gum  ti-ees.  Here  he  put  the  old  man  down  upon  a  bed  of 
dead  leaves  and  soft  springing  grass,  and  then  hurried 
away,  without  a  word,  to  the  fire,  only  to  find  that  the  house 
was  already  utterly  unapproachable.  In  fifteen  minutes, 
Buch  Avas  the  rapidity  with  which  the  flames  did  their 
work  upon  the  mas.s  of  dry  straw  and  the  wooden  roof  and 


JESS. 


m 

flooring’s  beneath,  the  wlicle  of  the  interior  of  the  house 
was  a  glowing  incandescent  pile,  and  in  half  an  hour  it 
was  completely  gutted,  nothing  being  left  standing  but  the 
massive  outer  walls  of  stone,  over  which  a  dense  column 
of  smoke  hung  like  a  pall.  Mooifontein  was  a  blackened 
ruin ;  only  the  stables  and  outhouses,  which  were  roofed 
with  galvanized  iroTi,  being  left  unin‘^ured. 

Fi’atik  Muller  had  not  gone  five  minutes  when,  to  Bessie’s 
joy,  her  uncle  opened  his  eyes  and  sat  up. 

“What  is  it?  wdiat  is  it?"  he  said.  “  Ah!  I  recollect. 
What  is  all  this  smell  of  fire?  Surely,  they  have  not  burnfs 
the  place?" 

“Yes,  uncle,”  sobbed  Bessie,  “they  have.” 

The  old  man  groaned.  “  It  took  me  ten  years  to  build, 
bit  ’oy  bit,  almost  stone  by  stone,  and  now  they  have  de¬ 
stroyed  it.  Well,  whynot?  God’s  will  be  done !  Give  ra® 
your  arm,  love,  I  want  to  get  to  the  water.  I  feel  faint 
and  sick.” 

She  did  as  he  bade  her,  sobbing  bitterly.  Within  fifteen 
yards,  on  the  edge  of  the  plantation,  was  a  little  spruit  or 
“unnel  of  water,  and  of  this  he  drank  copiously  and  bathed 
nis  wmunded  head  and  face. 

“There,  love,”  he  said,  “don’t  fret,  I  feel  quite  myself 
igain.  I  fear  I  made  a  fool  of  myself.  I  haven’t  learnt  to 
.oear  misfortune  and  dishonor  as  I  should  yet,  and,  like 
Job,  I  felt  as  though  God  had  forsaken  us.  But,  as  I  said. 
His  w’ill  be  done.  What  is  the  next  move,  I  wonder?  Ah  I 
we  shall  soon  know,  for  here  comes  our  friend  Frank 
Muller.” 

“  f  am  glad  to  see  that  you  have  recov^ered,  micle,”  said 
Muller  politely,  “and  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  tell  yo’i  that 
the  house  is  beyond  help.  Believe  me,  if  I  knew  who  fired 
it  I  would  shoot  him.  It  was  not  my  wish  or  intention 
that  the  property  should  be  destroyed.” 

The  old  man  merely  bowed  his  head  and  made  no  an¬ 
swer.  His  fiery  spirit  seemed  to  be  crushed  out  of  him. 

“  What  is  it  your  pleasure  that  we  should  do,  sir?’’  said 
Bessie  at  last.  “Perhaps,  now  that  we  are  ruined,  you  Avil) 
allow  us  to  go  to  Natal,  which,  I  suppose,  is  still  an  En¬ 
glish  country?” 

“  Yes,  Miss  Bessie,  Natal  is  still  English— for  the  present; 
soon  it  will  be  Dutch;  but  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  let 
you  go  there  now.  My  orders  are  to  keep  you  both  pris¬ 
oners  and  to  try  your  uncle  by  court-martial.  The  wagon- 
house,  ”  he  went  on  quickly,  “  with  the  two  little  rooms  qa 
each  .side  of  it,  has  not  been  touched  by  the  fire.  I  will 
have  them  made  ready  for  you,  and  as  soon  as  the  heat  is 
less  y(;u  cjaujgo  there,”  and  turning  to  f’' '  n.xeti  who  had 


JESS. 


lEoilowed  him  he  gave  some  j-apid  orders,  r.-'rdc..  .  e 
them  departed  to  carry  out. 

Still  the  old  man  made  no  comment,  he  did  not  ev^en 
seem  indignant  or  surprised,  but  poor  Bessie  was  utterly 
prostrated  and  stood  helpless,  not  knowing  what  to  say  t€ 
this  terrible,  remorselass  man,  who  stood  so  calm  and  un¬ 
moved  there  before  *iem. 

Frank  Muller  paused  av/hile  to  think,  stroking  his  beard 
as  he  did  so,  then  turned  again  and  addressed  the  two  re¬ 
maining  men  behind  him. 

“You  will  keep  guard  over  the  prisoner,”  indicating 
Silas  Croft,  “  and  suffer  none  to  communicate  with  him  by 
word  or  sign.  As  soon  as  it  is  ready  you  will  place  him  in 
the  little  room  to  the  left  of  the  wagon-house ;  and  see 
that  ho  is  supplied  wiffh  all  he  wants.  If  he  escapes  or 
converses,  or  is  ill-treated,  I  will  hold  you  responsible.  Do 
you  understand?” 

“Yali,  meinheer,”  was  the  answer. 

“Verygoo<l;  be  careful  you  do  not  forget.  And  now. 
Miss  Bessie,  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  can  give  me  a  word 
alone - ’  ’ 

■’  No,”  said  Bessie;  “  no,  I  will  not  leave  ray  uncle.” 

“  I  fear  you  will  have  to  do  that,”  he  said,  with  his  cold 
smile,  “  I  beg  you  to  think  again.  It  will  be  very  much 
to  your  advantage  to  speak  to  me,  and  to  your  uncle’s  ad¬ 
vantage  also.  I  should  advise  you  to  come.  ” 

Bessie  hesitated.  She  hated  and  mistrusted  the  man,  as 
she  had  good  reason  to  do,  and  feared  to  trust  herself  alone 
with  him. 

Whilst  she  still  hesitated,  the  two  Boers,  under  whose 
watch  and  ward  Muller  had  placed  her  uncle,  came  and, 
stood  between  him  and  her,  cutting  her  oh  from  him; 
Muller  turned  and  walked  a  few  paces  — ten  or  so— to  the 
right,  and  in  desperation  she  followed  him.  He  halted  be¬ 
hind  a.  bushy  orange-tree  of  some  eight  years’  growth. 
Overtaking  him,  she  stood  silent,  waiting  for  him  to  begin. 
They  were  quite  close  to  the  others,  but  the  roaring  of 
the  flames  of  the  burning  house  was  still  sufncieutly  loud 
to  have  drowned  a  much  more  audible  conversation  than 
theirs. 

“  Wliat  is  it  you  have  (o  say  to  me?”  she  said  at  length, 
pressing  her  hand  against  her  heart  to  still  its  beating. 
Her  woman’s  instinct  told  her  what  was  coming,  and  she 
was  tr>  ing  to  neiwe  hei'self  to  meet  it. 

“  Miss  Bessie,’’  he  said  slowly,  “it  is  this.  For  years  I 
have  loved  you  and  w'anted  to  marry  you.  I  again  ask 
you  to  be  my  wife.” 

“Mr.  Frank  Muller,”  she  answered,  her  spirit  ri  hig  to 
the  occasioiTj,  “  I  thank  you  for  your  offer,  au'l  only 

f 


JESS. 


195 

answar  that  I  can  gi^^e  you  is  that  I  once  for  all  decline 

it.” 

“Thi'-ik,”  he  said;  ”  I  love  you  as  women  are  not  often 
loved.  You  are  always  in  mind,  by  day  and  by  night 
too.  Everything  I  do,  every  step  I  go  up  the  ladder,  I 
have  said  and  say  to  myself,  ‘  I  am.  doing  it  for  Bessie 
Croft,  whom  I  mean  to  marry.’  Things  have  changed  in 
this  country.  The  rebellion  has  been  successful.  It  v.uis  I 
who  gave  the  casting  vote  for  it  that  I  might  win  you.  I 
am  nov.^  a  great  man,  and  shall  one  day  be  a  greater.  You 
will  be  great  with  me.  Think  what  you  say.” 

”  I  have  thought,  and  I  will  not  marry  you  You  dare 
to  come  and  ask  me  to  marry  you  over  the  ashes  of  my 
home,  out  of  which  you  ha’i'e  dragged  me  and  my  jwor 
old  uncle!  I  hate  you,  I  tell  you,  and  I  v  ill  not  mari-y 
you !  I  had  rather  marry  a  Kafir  than  marry  you,  Frank 
Muller,  however  great  you  may  be.” 

He  .smiled.  ”  Is  it  because  of  the  Englishman  Niel  that 
you  will  not  marry  me?  He  is  dead.  It  is  useless  to  cling 
to  a  dead  man.  ” 

”  Dead  or  alive,  I  love  him  with  all  my  heart,  and  if  he 
is  dead  it  is  at  the  hands  of  your  people,  and  his  blood  rises' 
lip  between  us.” 

‘‘His  blood  has  sunk  down  into  the  sand.  He  is  dead, 
and  I  am  glad  that  he  is  dead.  Once  more,  is  that  our 
last  word?” 

‘‘It  is.” 

”  Very  good.  Then  I  tell  you  that  you  shall  marry  me 
or - ” 

‘‘Or  what?” 

‘‘Or  vour  uncle,  the  old  man  you  love  so  much,  shall 
die!” 

‘‘ Wliat  do  you  mean?”  she  said  in  a  choked  voice. 

“  AVhat  I  say;  no  more  and  no  less.  Do  you  think  that 
I  will  let  one  old  man’s  life  stand  between  me  and  ray  de¬ 
sire?  Never.  If  you  will  not  marry  me,  Silas  Croft  shall 
be  put  upon  his  trial  for  attempted  murder  and  for  treason 
within  an  hour  from  this.  Within  an  hour  and  a  half 
he  shall  be  condemned  to  die,  and  to-morrow  at  dawn 
he  shall  die,  by  warrant  under  my  hand.  I  am  com¬ 
mandant  here,  with  power  of  life  and  death,  and  I  tell  you 
that  he  shall  certainly  die — and  his  blood  will  bo  on  your 
head.” 

Bessie  grasped  at  the  tree  for  support.  You  dare  not,’’ 
she  said:  ‘‘you  dare  not  murder  an  innocent  old  man.” 

"Dare  not!”  he  answered;  "you  must  understand  m© 
very  ill,  Bessie  Croft,  when  you  talk  of  what  I  dare  not 
do  for  you.  There  is  nothing,”  he  added,  with  a  thrill  iu 
his  rich  voice*  ‘  ‘  that  I  dare  not  do  to  gain  you.  l-ostear 


196 


JESS. 


promise  to  marry  me  to-morrow  morning.  I  will  get  a 
clergyman  here  from  Wakkerstroom,  and  your  uncle  shall 
go  free  as  iiir,  though  he  is  a  traitor  to  the  land,  and  though 
he  has  tried  to  shoot  a  burgher  after  the  declaration  of 
peace.  Refuse,  and  he  dies.  Choose  now.” 

“I  have  chosen, ”  she  answered  with  passion.  “Frank 
Muller,  perjured  traitor— yes,  murderer  that  you  are,  I 
will  not  marry  you!” 

“Very  good,  very  good,  Bessie;  as  you  will.  But  now 
one  more  thing.  You  shall  not  say  that  I  have  not  warned 
yon.  If  you  persist  in  this  your  uncle  shall  die.  but  you 
shall  not  escape  me.  iTou  will  not  marry  me?  Well,  even 
in  this  country,  where  I  can  do  most  things,  I  cannot  force 
you  to  do  that.  But  I  can  force  you  to  be  my  wife  in  all 
but  the  nsiue,  withoTit  marriage;  and  this,  when  your 
uncle  is  stiff  in  his  bloody  giave,  I  will  do.  You  shall  have 
one  more  chance  after  the  trial,  and  one  only.  If  you  re¬ 
fuse  he  shall  die,  and  then,  after  his  death,  I  shall  take  you 
away  by  force,  and  in  a  week’s  time  you  will  be  glad 
enough  to  marry  me  to  cover  up  your  shame,  my  pretty!” 

“You  are  a  devil,  Frank  Muller,  a  wicked  devil,  but  I 
will  not  be  frightened  into  dishonor  b^^  you.  I  had  rather 
kill  myself.  I  trust  to  God  to  help  me.  I  will  have  noth¬ 
ing  to  do  -with  you;”  and  she  put  her  hands  before  her  face 
and  burst  into  tears. 

“You  look  lovely  when  you  weep.”  he  said,  with  a 
laugh ;  “  to-morrow  I  shall  be  able  to  kiss  awa}^  your  tears. 
As  you  will.  Here,  you!”  lie  shouted  to  some  men,  Avhc 
could  be  seen  watching  the  progress  of  the  dying  fire, 
“come  here.” 

Some  of  the  men  obeyed,  and  he  proceeded  to  give  in¬ 
structions  in  the  same  terms  that  he  had  given  to  the 
other  two  men  who  were  watching  old  Silas,  ordering  Bes¬ 
sie  to  be  instantly  incarcerated  in  the  corresponding  little 
room  on  the  other  side  of  the  wagon -house,  and  kept 
strictly  from  all  communication  from  the  outside  world, 
adding,  however,  these  words: 

“Bid  the  burghers  assemble  in  the  wagon-house  for  the 
trial  of  the  Englishman.  Silas  Croft,  for  treason  against  the 
state  and  attempted  murder  of  one  of  the  burghers  of  the 
state  in  the  execution  of  the  commands  of  the  trium- 
vii’ate.” 

The  two  men  advanced  and  seized  Bessie  by  both  arms. 
Then,  faint  and  overpowered,  she  was  led  through  the  lit¬ 
tle  plantation,  over  a  gap  in  the  garden  wall,  dowm  past 
the  scorched  syringa-trees  that  lined  the  roadway  that 
ran  along  the  hillside  at  the  back  of  the  still  burning 
house,  till  they  reached  the  wagon-house  with  the  two 
Mttle  rooms  "vl.i.h  served  respectively  as  a  store  and  har- 

i  ~  "■" 


JESS. 


7m 

Hess- room.  She  was  then  thrust  into  tho  store-room,  which 
was  half  full  of  loose  potatoes  and  mealies  in  sacks,  and 
the  door  locked  upon  her. 

There  was  no  window  to  this  room,  and  the  only  light  in 
it  was  such  as  found  its  way  through  the  chinks  of  the 
door  and  an  air-hole  in  the  masonry  of  the  back  wall.  She 
sank  on  a  half  emptied  sack  of  mealies  and  tried  to  reflect. 
Her  first  idea  was  of  escape,  but  she  soon  realized  that  that 
was  a  practical  impossibility.  The  stout  yellow  wood  door 
was  locked  upon  her,  and  a  sentry  stood  before  it.  She 
rose  and  looked  through  the  air-hole  in  the  rear  wall,  but 
there  another  sentry  was  posted.  Then  she  turned  her  at¬ 
tention  to  the  side  wall  that  divided  the  room  from  the 
wagon-house.  It  was  built  of  ^fourteen -inch  green  brick  ¬ 
work,  and  had  cracked  from  the  shrinkage  of  the  bricks, 
60  that  she  could  hear  anything  that  went  on  in  the 
wagon-house,  and  even  see  anybody  who  might  be  moving 
about  in  it.  But  it  was  far  too  strong  for  her  to  hope  to  be 
able  to  break  through,  and  even  if  she  did  it  would  be  use¬ 
less.  for  there  were  armed  men  there  also.  Besides,  how 
could  she  run  away  and  leave  her  old  uncle  to  his  fate? 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

CONDKMNED  TO  DEATH. 

Half  an  hour  passed  in  silence,  which  was  only  broken 
by  the  footsteps  of  the  sentries  as  they  tramped,  or  rather 
loitered,  up  and  down,  or  by  the  occasional  fall  of  some 
calcined  masonry  from  the  walls  of  the  burnt-out  house. 
What  between. the  smell  of  smoke  and  dust,  the  heat  of 
the  sun  on  the  tin  roof  above,  and  of  the  red-hot  embers  of 
the  house  in  front,  the  little  room  where  Bessie  was  shut 
up  was  almost  unbearable,  and  she  felt  as  though  she 
Bhould  faint  there  upon  the  sacks.  Thi-ough  one  of  the 
cracks  in  the  wagon-house  wall  there  blew  a  little  draught, 
and  by  this  <;rack  Bessie  placed  herself,  leaning  her  head 
against  the  wall  so  as  to  get  the  full  benefit  of  the  air  and 
command  a  view  of  the  place. 

Presently  several  of  the  Boers  came  into  the  wagon- 
house  and  proceeded  to  pull  some  of  the  carts  and  timber 
out  of  it,  leaving  one  buck-wagon,  however,  placed  along 
the  wall  on  the  side  opposite  to  tho  crack  through  which 
she  was  looking.  Tlien  they  prilled  the  Scotch  cart  over 
to  her  side,  laughing  about  something  among  themselves 
as  they  did  so,  and  arranged  it  with  its  ba^  turned  to¬ 
ward  the  wagon,  supporting  the  shafts  upon  a  wagon- 
jack.  Next,  out  of  the  further  corner  of  the  place,  they 
’:::ti’acted  an  old  saw-bench  and  set  it  at  the  top  of  th® 
Qf  ja  Bpae«.  Then  Bessie  understood  what  were  do 


198 


JESS. 


ing — they  were  arranging  a  court,,  and  the  saw-bench  was 
the  judge’s  chair.  So  Frank  Muller  meant  to  carry  out 
his  threat ! 

Shortly  after  this  all  the  Boers,  except  those  who  were 
keeping  guard,  filed  into  the  place  and  began  to  clamber 
on  to  -the  buck-wagon,  seating  themselves-  with  much 
rough  joking  in  a  double  row  upon  the  broad  side-rails. 
Next  appeared  Hans  Coetzee,  his  head  bound  up  in  a 
bloody  handkerchief.  He  was  pale  and  shaky,  but  Bessie 
could  see  that  he  was  but  little  the  worse  for  his  wound. 
Then  came  Frank  Muller  himself,  looking  white  and  very 
terrible,  and  as  he  came  the  men  stopped  their  joking  and 
talking.  Indeed  it  was  curious  to  observe  how  strong  was. 
his  ascendancy  over  them.  As  a  rule,  the  weak  part  of 
Boer  organization  is  that  it  is  practically  impossible  to  get 
one  Boer  to  pay  deference  to  or  obey  another;  but  this, 
was  certainly  not  the  case  where  Frank  Muller  w'as  con:- 
cerned. 

Muller  advanced  without  hesitation  to  the  saw-bench  at 
the  top  of  the  open  space,  and  sat  down  on  it,  placing  his 
rifle  between  his  knees.  After  this  there  was  a  pause,  and 
next  minute  Bessie  saw  her  old  uncle  conducted  in  by  two 
armed  Boers,  who  halted  in  the  middle  of  the  space,  about 
three  paces  from  the  saw-bench,  and  stood  one  on  either 
side  of  their  prisoner.  At  the  same  time  Hans-  Coetzee 
climbed  tip  into,  the  Scotch  cart,  and  Muller  drew  a  note¬ 
book  and  a  pencil  from  his  pocket. 

“Silence!”  he  said.  “  We  are  assembled  here  to  try  the 
Englishman,  Silas  Croft,  by  court-martial.  The  charges 
against  him  are  that  by  ^vord  and  deed,  notably  by  con¬ 
tinuing  to  fly  the  English  flag  after  the  country  had  been 
surrendered  to  the  rexiublic,  he  has  traitorously  rebelled 
against  the  government  of  the  country.  Further,  that  ha 
has  attempted  to  murder  a  burgher  of  the  republic  by 
shooting  at  him  with  a  loaded  rifle.  If  these  charges  are 

f)roved  against  him  he  will  be  liable  to  death,  by  martial 
aw.  Prisoner  Croft,  what  do  you  answer  to  the  charges 
against  you?” 

The  old  man,  who  seemed  very  quiet  and  composed, 
looked  iqj  at  his  judge  and  then  replied : 

“  I  am  an  English  subject.  I  only  defended  my  house 
after  you  had  murdered  one  of  my  servants.  I  deny  your 
jurisdiction  over  me,  and  I  refuse  to  plead.” 

Frank  Mulier  made-  some  notes  in.  his  pocket-book,  and 
then  said,  “  I  overrule  the  prisoner's  objection  as  to 
the  jui-rsdiction  of  the  court.  As  to.  the  chax'ges,  we  will 
now  take  evidence.  Of  the  first  chaage  no.  evidence 
IB  needed,  for  we  all  saw  the  flag  flying:  As  to  the  second, 
Hans  C' .';:ee,  the  a.ssaulted  buiglier-  n©w  givQ 


JESS. 


199 


evidence.  ih.ns  Coetzee,  do  you  swtnii-  ■  .  'ho  name 
of  God  and  the  republic  to  speak  the  truth,  tiie  whole 
Jruth,  and  notliing  but  the  truth?” 

”  Almighty,  yes.”  answered  Hans  from  the  cart  on 
which  he  had  enthroned  himself,  “so  help  me,  the  dear 
Lord.” 

“  Proceed  then.” 

“  I  was  entering  the  house  of  the  prisoner  to  arrest  him, 
in  obedience  to  your  worshipful  commands,  wh-cu  the  pris 
oner  lifted  a  gun  and  fired  at  me.  The  bullet  from  the 
gun  struck  me  upon  the  ear,  cuttiiig  it  and  putting  me  to 
miich  pain  and  loss  of  blood.  That  is  the  evidence  I  have 
to  give.” 

“  That’s  right;  that  is  not  a  lie,”  said  some  of  the  men 
on  the  wagon. 

“  Prisoner,  have  you  any  question  to  ask  the  witness?” 
said  Muller. 

“I  have  no  question  to  ask ;  I  deny  your  jurisdi'Ction,' 
said  the  old  man  witli  spirit. 

“Tile  prisoner  declines  to  question  the  witness,  and 
again  pleads  to  the  jurisdiction,  a  plea  which  I  have  r)ver- 
ruled.  Glentlemen,  dQ^vou  desire  to  hear  any  further  evi¬ 
dence?” 


“  No,  no.” 

“Do  you  then  find  the  prisoner  guilty  of  the  charge? 
laid  against  him?” 

“  Yes,  yes,”  fi-om  the  wagon. 

Muller  made  a  further  note  in  his  book,  and  then  went 
on : 


“T'leu  the  prisoner,  liaving  been  found  guilty  of  high 
tre.asun  and  attempted  murder,  the  only  matter  that  re¬ 
mains  is  the  question  of  the  punishment  required  to  be 
meted  out  by  the  law  to  such  wicked  and  horrible  olfenses. 
Every  man  will  give  his  verdict,  having  duly  considered 
if  there  is  any  way  by  which  in  aGeordaiii.ce  witli  tlie  holy 
dictates  of  his  conscience,,  and  with  the  natural  prompt¬ 
ings  to  pity  in  his  heart,  he  can  extend  mercy  to  the  pris¬ 
oner.  As  commandant  and  prasident  of  the  court,  the 
first  vote  lies  with  me;  and  I  must  tell  you,  gentlemen, 
that  I  feel  the  responsibility  of  a  very  hea^py  one  in  the 
sight  of  God  and  my  country:  and  I  must  also  warn  you 
not  to  be  influenced  or  overruled  by  rny  decision,  who  am, 
like  you,  only  a  man.  liable  to  err  and  be  h^d  away.” 

“Hear,  hear,"  said  the  voices  on  the  vnigo:i,  as  he 
paused  to  lune  the  eli'ect  of  his  address. 

“Gentlemen  a’ul  burghers  of  the  stabv  mv 


promptings 
an  Old  iu''u. 
brother' 


lis  case  are  toward  pity. 


i  US- 


'•■•la)  lived  nia!.iy  years  fue.  > 
ed  lie  is  a  ‘  voortrekke" 


liatural 
-oner  is 
like  a 
ough 


soo 


JESS. 


an  Englishman,  one  of  the  fathers  of  the  land.  Can 
we  condemn  such  a  one  to  a  blcfcdy  grave,  more  esiJeciaiiy 
as  he  has  a  niece  dependent  upon  him?” 

‘‘No,  nol”  they  cried,  in  answer  to  this  skillful  touch 
upon  the  better  strings  in  their  nature. 

“Gentlemen,  those  sentiments  do  you  honor.  My  own 
heart  cried  but  now  ‘  No,  no.  Whatever  his  sins  have 
been,  let  the  old  man  go  free.  ’  But  then  came  reflection. 
True,  the  prisoner  is  old;  but  should  not  age  have  taught 
him  wisdom?  Is  that  which  is  not  to  be  forgiven  to  youth 
to  be  forgiven  to  tlie  ripe  experience  of  many  3'ears?  May 
a  man  murder  and  be  a  traitor  because  he  is  old?” 

‘"  No,  certainly  not!”  cried  the  chorus  on  the  wagon. 

“Then  there  is  the  second  point.  He  was  a  ‘  voortrek- 
ker’  and  a  father  of  the  land.  Should  he  not  therefore 
have  known  better  than  to  beti’ay  it  into  the  hands  of  the 
•cruel,  godless  English?  For,  gentlemen,  though  that 
charge  is  not  laid  against  him,  we  must  remember,  as 
throwing  a  light  upon  his  general  character,  that  the  pris¬ 
oner  was  one  of  those  vile  men  who  betrayed  the  laud  to 
Shepstone.  Is  it  not  a  most  cruel  and  unnatural  thing  that 
a  father  should  sell  his  own  child  into  slavery? — that  a 
father  of  the  land  should  barter  away  its  freedom?  There¬ 
fore  on  this  point,  too,  does  justice  temper  merc^u” 

“That  is  so,”  said  the  chorus  with  particular  enthu¬ 
siasm,  most  of  them  having  themselves  been  instrumental 
in  biil^^ing  the  annexation  about. 

“  Tiien  one  more  thing ;  this  man  has  a  niece,  and  it  is  the 
care  of  all  good  men  to  see  that  the  young  should  not  be 
left  destitute  and  friendless,  lest  they  should  grow  iip  bad 
and  become  enemies  to  the  wellbeing  of  the  state.  But  in 
this  case  that  will  not  be  so,  for.  the  farm  will  go  to  the  girl 
bylaw;  and,  indeed,  she  will  be  well  rid  of  bo  desperate 
and  godless  an  old  man. 

“And  now,  having  set  my  reasons  toward  one  side  and 
the  other  before  you,  and  having  warned  you  fully  to  act 
each  man  according  to  his  conscience,  I  give  my  vote.  It 
is ’’--and  in  the  midst  of  the  most  intense  silence  he 
\»aused  and  looked  at  old  Silas,  who  never  even  quailed — 

it  is  death." 

There  was  a  little  hum  of  conversation,  and  poor  Bessie, 
surveying  the  scene  through  the  crack  in  the  store-room 
wall,  groaned  in  bitterness  and  despair  of  heart. 

Then  Hans  Coe tzee  spoke.  “It  cut  his  bosom  in  two,” 
he  said,  “to  have  to  say  a  word  against  one  to  whom  ho 
had  for  many  years  been  as  a  brother.  But,  then,  what 
was  he  do?  The  man  had  plotted  evil  against  their  land, 
the  dear  land  that  the  dear  Lord  had  given  them,  and 
which  they  and  their  fathers  had  on  various  occasions 


JESS. 


watered,  and  were  still  contimiir.g  to  water,  with  their 
blood.  Wha^  could  be' a  fitting  punishment  for  so  black- 
ho^irted  a  traitor,  and  liow  would  it  be  possible  to  ensure 
the  better  behavior  of  other  damned  Englishmen,  unless 
they  inflicted  that  punishment?  There  could,  alas!  be  but 
one  answer — though,  personally  speaking,  he  uttered  it 
with  many  tears— and  that  answer  was  death." 

After  this  there  were  no  more  speeches,  but  each  jnan 
voted  according  to  his  age,  upon  his  name  being  called  by 
the  president.  At  first  there  was  a  little  hesitation,  for 
some  among  them  were  fond  of  old  Silas,  and  loth  to  de¬ 
stroy  him.  But  Frank  Midler  had  played  his  game  very 
well,  and,  notwithstanding  his  appeals  to  their  indepen¬ 
dence  of  judgment,  they  knew  full  surely  what  would  hap- 
pen  to  him  who  gave  his  vote  against  the  president.  So 
they  swallowed  their  better  feelings  Avith  all  the  ease  for 
which  such  swalloAving  is  noted,  and  one  by  one  uttered 
khe  fatal  word. 

When  they  had  all  done  Frank  Muller  addressed  Silas; 

“Prisoner,  you  have  heai'd  the  judgment  against  you. 
I  need  not  now'  recapitulate  your  crimes.  You  have  had  a 
fair  and  open  trial  by  court  martial,  such  as  our  law’  di¬ 
rects.  Have  you  anything  to  say  why  sentence  of  death 
should  not  be  passed  upon  you  in  accordance  with  the  judg¬ 
ment  ?” 

“Old  Silas  looked  up  with  flashing  eyes,  and  shook  back 
his  fringe  of  white  hair  like  a  lion  at  bay. 

“  I  have  nothing  to  say.  If  you  wall  do  murder,  do  it 
black-hearted  villain  that  a  ou  are!  I  might  point  to  my 
gray  hairs,  to  my  murdei’ed  servant,  to  my  home  that  took 
me  ten  years  to  build,  destroyed  by  you  I  I  might  tell  you 
hoAv  I  have  been  a  good  citizen  and  liA  ed  peaceably  and 
.  neighborly  in  the  land  for  more  than  twenty  years— ay, 
and  done  kindness  after  kindness  to  many  of  you  who  are 
going  to  murder  me  in  cold  blood !  But  1  Avill  no“t.  Shoot 
me  if  you  will,  and  may  my  death  lie  heav’y  on  your  heads. 
This  morning  I  Avould  have  said  that  my  country  Avould 
avenge  me;  I  cannot  say  that  now’,  for  England  has  de¬ 
serted  us  and  I  haA'e  no  country  Therefoi’e  I  leave  the 
vengeance  in  the  hands  of  God,  Avho  never  fails  to  avenge, 
though  sometimes  he  Avaits  for  long  to  do  it.  I  am  not 
afraid  of  you.  Shoot  me  uoav  if  you  like  I  haA'e  lost  my 
honor,  my  home,  and  my  country;  Avhy  should  1  not  lose 
my  life  also?” 

Frank  Muller  fixed  his  cold  eyes  upon  the  old  man’s 
ouivering  face,  and  smiled  a  dreadful  smile  of  triumph. 

“  Prisoner,  it  is  now  my  duty,  in  the  name  of  God  and 
tile  republic,  to  sentence  you  to  be  shot  to-marrow  bX 


JESS. 


m 

dawn,  ana  may  the  Almighty  forgive  you  your  wickednesig 
and  have  mercy  iipon  your  soul. 

“  Let  the  prisoner  he  removed,  and  let  a  man  ride  full 
speed  to  the  empty  house  on  the  hillside,  where  the  En¬ 
glishman  with  the  red  beard  used  to  live,  one  hour  this 
side  of  Wakkerstroom,  and  bring  back  with  him  tha 
clergyman  he  will  find  v.-aiting  there,  that  the  prisoner 
may  be  offered  his  ministi-ations.  Also  let  two  men  be  set; 
to  dig  the  prisoner’s  grave  in  the  burial-place  at  the  back 
of  the  house.” 

The  guards  laid  their  hands  upon  the  old  man’s,  shoul¬ 
ders,  and  he  turned  and  v  ent  Avith  them  witiiout  a  word. 
Bessie  Avatched  him  go  through  her  crack  in  the  wall,  till 
the  doai'^  old  head  Avith  its  fringe  of  AA'hite  hairs  and  tha 
bent  frame  were  no  more  Ausible.  and  then  at  last,,  her  fac¬ 
ulties  benumbed  and  exhausted  hy  the  horrors  she  was 
passing  through,  ga,ve  out,  and  she  fell  forAA-ard  in  a  faint 
there  upon  tire,  sacks. 

MeanAvhile,  Muller  AA-as  writing  the  death -Avarrant  upon 
a  sheet  of  his  pocket-book.  At  the  foot  he  left  a  space  for 
bis  own  signature,  but  lie  did  not  sign  it,  for  reasons  of  his 
own.  What  he  did  do  was  to  pass  it  round  to  be  counter¬ 
signed  by  all  Avho  had  fo.rmed  the  court  in  this  mock  trial,, 
his  object  being  to  implicate  every  man  there  present  in 
the  jiidicial  murder  by  the  direct  and  incontrovertible 
evidence  of  his  sign-manual.  Now,  Boers  are  simple  pas¬ 
toral  folk,  but  they  are  not  quite  so  simple  as  not  to  see 
through  a  moA'^e  like  this,  and  thereon  followed  a.  very  in 
structiv©  little  scene.  They  had,  to  a  man,  been  willing 
enough  to  give  their  verdict  for  the  old  man’s  execution, 
but  they  were  by  no  means  icady  to  record  it  in  black 
and  white.  As  soon  as  ever  they  understood  the  object  of 
their  feared  and  respected  commandant,  a  general  desira- 
manifested  itself  to  make  themselves  respectively  and  col¬ 
lectively  scarce.  Suddenly  they  found  that  they  had  bus 
iness  outside,  and  something  like  a  general  attempt  at  a 
bolt  ensued.  Several  of  them  had  already  tumbled  off  tlieir 
extemporized  jury  box,  and,  headed  by  the  redoubtable 
Hans,  were  approaching  the  entrance  to  the  wagon- house, 
when  Frank  Muller  perceived  their  design,  and  roared  out 
in  a  voice  of  thunder  - 

“Stop!  Not  a  man  leaves  this  place  till  the  Avarrant  is 
signed.” 

Instantly  the  men  halted,  and  began  to  look  innocems 
and  converse. 

“  lTa::.s  Coetzee,  come  here  and  sign.”  .‘i'md  Muller  again, 
whei  ’  lore  unfortunate  advanced  with  as  good  a  grace 
AS  he  ’  '  muster,  murmuring  to  hiinsolt  curses,  not 


JESS.  SOS 

loud  but  deep,  i  ipon  the  head  of  ‘  ‘  that  devil  of  a  man,  Frank 
Muller.” 

However,  there  was  no  help  for  it,  so,  with  a  sickly  smile, 
he  put  ins  name  to  the  fatal  document  in  big  shaky  letters. 
Then  Muller  called  another  man,  who  instantly  tried  to  get 
out  of  it  on  the  ground  that  his  education  had  been 
neglected  and  that  he  could  not  write,  an  excuse  that 
availed  him  little,  for  Frank  Muller  quietly  wrote  his  name 
for  him,  leaving  a  space  for  his  mark.  After  that  there 
wms  no  more  trouble,  and  in  five  minutes  the  entii'e  back 
of  the  warrant  was  covered  with  the  scrawling  signatures 
of  the  Amrious  members  of  the  court. 

One  by  one  the  men  went,  till  at  last  Muller  was  left 
alone,  seated  there  on  the  saw-bench,  his  head  sunk  upon 
his  breast,  holding  the  warrant  in  one  hand,  while  with 
the  other  he  stroked  his  golden  beard.  Presently  he 
stopped  stro-king  his  beard  and  sat  for  some  minutes  per¬ 
fectly  still,  so  still  that  he  might  haA^e  been  carved  in 
stone.  By  this  time  the  afternoon  sun  had  got  behind  the 
hill  and  the  deep  Avagon-house  was  full  of  shadoAv  that 
seemed  to  gather  round  him  and  invest  him  with  a  somber, 
mysterious  grandeur.  He  looked  like  a  king  of  evil,  for 
evil  has  her  princes  as  Avell  as  good,  and  stamps  them 
Avith  her  imperial  seal  of  power  and  crowns  them  Avith 
a  diadem  of  her  own,  and  among  these  Frank  Muller 
was  «rn’ely  great.  A  little  smile  of  triumph  played  upon 
his  oeautiful,  cruel  face,  a  little  light  danced  within  hif* 
cold  eyes  aiid  ran  down  the  yellow  beard.  At  tliat  mo¬ 
ment  he  might  have  sat  for  a  portrait  of  his  master,  tlie 
devil. 

Presently  he  awoke  from  his  reverie.  ”  I  have  her!”  he 
said  to  hiTiiseif ;  ‘“I  have  her  in  a  vise !  She  cannot  escape 
me;  she  cannot  let  the  old  man  die!  Those  curs  haA^a 
served  my  purpose  well ;  they  are  as  easy  to  play  on  as  a 
fiddle,  and  1  am  a  good  player.  Yes,  and  now  we  are  get¬ 
ting  to  the  end  of  the  tune.” 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

”  AA"E  MUST  PART,  JOHN.” 

Jess  and  her  companion  stood  in  a-Aved  silence  and  gazed 
at  tlio  bhickeuing  and  di.storted  corp.ses  of  the  thimder- 
blasted  Boers.  Tiieu  they  Avent  past  them  to  the  tree 
whicli  grew  some  ten  paces  or  more  on  the  other  side  of 
the  place  of  destruction.  There  was  some  little  difficulty 
in  getting  the  lior.se.s  past  the  corpse.s,  but  a:,  la-iG  they 
came  with  a  Avheel  and  a  snort  of  suspicion,  a  nd  ■■•’ere  tied 
up  to  the  tree  by  John.  Meanwliile  Jess  took  -  of  tha 
hard-boiled  egg.s  out  of  the  basket  and  Amuidn  '.nark- 


JESS. 


iiig  that  she  was  going  to  take  her  clothes  cfT  and 
them  in  the  sun  vrhile  she  ate  her  breakfast,  and  she  ad¬ 
vised  him  to  do  the  same.  Accordingly,  as  soon  as  she 
was  weil  out  of  sight  behind  the  shelter  of  the  rocks,  she 
proceeded  to  get  out  of  ncr  sodden  garments,  in  itself  a 
task  of  no  little  difficult}'.  Then  she  wrung  them  out 
and  spread  them  one  by  one  on  the  fi  it,  water-washed 
stones  around,  which  were  by  now  thoroughly  warmed 
with  the  sun. 

Next  she  went  down  a  few  paces  to  a  pool  under  the 
shadow  of  the  bank,  in  the  roek-bed  of  ths  river,  ana 
bathed  her  bruises  and  washed  the  sand  ana  mud  from 
her  hair  and  feet.  After  this  she  came  and  sat  herself  on 
a  slab  of  fiat  stone  out  of  the  ghtre  of  the  sun,  and  ate  her 
breakfast  of  hard  boiled  eggs,  redecting  meanwhile  on  the 
P'^sition  in  which  she  found  her-^elf.  For  her  heart  was 
very  sore  and  heavy,  and  she  could  find  it  in  her  to  wFh 
that  she  was  lying  somewhere  beneath  tho.se  rushing 
waters.  She  had  calculated  oit  death,  and  no%vshe  was  not 
dead,  and  she  and  her  shame  and  her  trouble  might  yet 
Jive  for  many  a  year.  She  was  like  one  who  in  her  sleep 
had  seemed  to  soar  on  angel  s  wings  out  into  the  airy 
depths,  and  then  awakened  with  a  start-  to  find  that  she 
had  tumbled  from  her  bed.  All  the  heroic  .scale,  all  the 
more  than  earthly  depth  of  pas^sion,  all  the  spiritualized 
desires  that  had  sprung  into  being  beneath  the  shadow  of 
the  approaching  end.  had  come  down  to  the  common  level 
of  an  undesirable  attachment,  along  which  she  must  now 
drag  her  weary  feet  for  many  a  year. 

Nor  was  that  all.  She  h^  been  false  to  Bessie,  and 
more,  she  had  broken  Bes.sie’s  lover's  troth.  She  l»ad 
tempted  him  and  he  had  fallen,  and  now  he  was  as  bad  as 
she.  Death  would  have  justified  all  this;  she  would  never 
have  done  it  had  she  thought  she  was  going  to  live;  but 
now  Death  had  cheated  her,  as  he  has  a  way  of  doing  with 
people  to  whom  his  presence  is  more  or  less  desirable,  and 
left  her  to  cope  with  the  spirit  she  had  invoked  when  his 
sword  was  quivering  over  her. 

What  would  be  the  end  of  it.  supposing  they  escaped} 
What  could  be  the  end  except  misery  ?  Tt  should  go  no  fur¬ 
ther.  far  as  it  had  gone,  that  she  swoi-e;  no,  not  if  it  broke 
her  heart  and  his,  too.  The  conditions  vrere  altered  again, 
and  the  memory  of  those  dreadful  and  wonderful  hours 
when  they  two  swung  upon  the  raging  river  and  ex¬ 
changed  their  undying  trotli.  with  the  grave  for  their 
altar,  must  he  a  memory  and  nothing  more.  It  had  risen 
on  their  lives  like  some  beautiful  yet  terrible  dream-image 
of  celestial  joy,  and  now  like  a  dream  it  must  vanDh. 
And  vet  it  was  nn  dream,  axceot  ’.i>  so  far  as  all  her  life 


JESS. 


ms 

was  a  dream  and  a  vision,  a  riddle  of  which  glimpses  of 
the  answer  came  asmrely  as  gleams  of  sunshine  on  a  rainy 
day. 

Alas!  it  was  no  dream;  it  was  a  poriion  of  llie  living, 
breathing  past,  tliat  haviisg  once  been  is  inmnaaai  in  its 
every  part  and  moment,  incarnating  as  it  does  the  very 
spirit  of  immortality,  an  utter  incapacity  to  change.  As 
the  act  was,  as  the  word  had  been  speken.  so  'vouUl  .act 
and  word  be  forever  and  forever.  At  id  now  this  undying 
•thing  must  be  caged  and  cast  about  with  the  sen. i'iatice  of 
death,  and  clouded  over  with  the  shadow  of  an  unreal  foi-- 
getfulness.  Oh,  it  was  bitter,  very  bitter!  W'hat -wo aid 
it  be  now  to  go  away,  right  away  from  him,  and  know  him 
married  toiler  own  sister,  the  other  woman  with  a  ]M!or 
right?  What  would  it  be  to  think  of  Bes.sie's  sweetness 
slowly  creeping  into  her  empty  place  and  tilling  it,  of  Bes¬ 
sie’s  gentle,  constant  love  covering  up  the  I’ecolleciion  of 
thei|*  wilder  passion,  pervading  it  and  co^■ering  ii,  upas  tlie 
twilight  slowly  pervades  and  covers  up  the  day,  till  a.t  hist 
perhaps  it  was  all  blotted  out  and  forgotten  in  the  night  of 
forgetfulness? 

And  yet  it  must  be  so,  she  was  determined  that  it  should 
be  so.  _  Ah,  that  she  had  died  then  with  his  kiss  upon  her 
lips!  Why  had  he  not  let  her  die?  And  the  ])oor  girl 
shook  her  damp  hair  over  her  face  and  sobbed  in  the  bit¬ 
terness  of  her  heart,  as  Eve  might  havesobbed  when  Adam 
reproached  her. 

But,  .naked  or  di’essed,  sobbing  will  not  mend  m;it.!er.s  in 
this  sad  world  of  ours,  a  fact  tha.t  Jess  had  the  sense  to  i-e- 
alize;  so  she  presently  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  hair,  ha  ving 
nothing  else  handy  to  wipe  them  wit  ii,  and  set  to  work  t  o  got 
into  her  partially -dried  garments  again,  a  process  calculated 
to  irritate  the  most  fortunate  and  liappy-minded  woman  m 
the  whole  wide  world.  Certainly,  in  her  pi-eseiit  frame  of 
mind,  tho.se  damp,  bullet-torn  clothes  drove  Jess  nearly 
wild,  so  much  so  that  had  she  beeii  a  man  she  wouhi  prob¬ 
ably  have  sworn — a  consolation  that  her  sex  denied  her. 
Fortunately  she  bad  a  traveling  comb  in  her  pocket,  v.  iili 
which  she  made  shift  to  do  her  curling  hair,  if  hair  can  be 
said  to  be  done  when  one  has  n<)t  a  hairpin  or  even  a  bit  of 
string  to  fasten  it  up  with. 

Then,  after  a  last  and  frightful  struggle  with  her  sodden 
boots,  that  seemed  to  take  almost  as  much  out  of  her  as 
her  roll  at  the  bottom  of  the  Vaal,  she  rose  and  walktul 
(back  to  the  spot  where  she  had  left  John  an  hour  betoro. 
He  was  employed,  when  she  reached  him,  in  saddling  i.p 
the  second  of  the  two  gi’ays,  with  the  .•^addles  and  brullos 
that  he  had  removed  from  the  carcasses  of  the  hoi>es 
which  ihe  lightning  had  destroyed. 


JESS. 


*■  Hallo.  Jese.  vou  look  quite  smart.  you  dried 

your  clothes?”  he  said.  1  have  after  a  fashiou.'’ 

“Yes.”  sh« answer<-<i. 

Helofiked  at  her.  "Why,  dearest,  you  have  beea  cry¬ 
ing.  Come,  tilings  ai-e  black  enough,  but  it  is  no  use  cry¬ 
ing.  At  any  rate,  we  have  got  off  with  our  lives  so  far." 

".John.’’  said  Jess,  sharply.  “  there  must  be  no  more  of 
that.  Things  have  changed.  We  were  dead  last  night; 
now  we  have  come  to  life  again.  Besides,’’  she  added, 
with  a  ghost  of  a  laugh.  "  perhaps  you  will  see  Bessie  to- 
monow,  I  should  think  we  ought  to  have  got  to  the  end 
of  our  misfortunes.’’ 

John’s  face  fell,  as  the  recollection  of  the  impossible  and 
most  tragic  x>oeition  in  which  they  were  placed,  physically 
and  morally,  swept  into  his  mind. 

“  ZJy  dearest  Jess.”  he  sidd.  *  what  is  to  be  done?” 

She  stamped  her  foot,  in  the  bitter  anguish  of  her  heart. 
“I  told  yon.”  she  said,  “that  there  must  be  no  more  of 
that.  What  are  you  thinking  about?  From  to-day  we  are 
deadto  each  other.  I  have  done  with  you  and  you  with 
me.  It  is  j'otir  own  fault:  you  should  have  let  me  die.  Oh, 
John,  John,’’  she  wailed  out,  “why  did  you  not  let  me 
die?  Why  did  we  not  both  die?  We  should  have  been 
happy  now,  or— asleep.  We  must  part.  John,  we  must 
pan  .  and  n  hat  shall  I  do  without  you?  what  shall  I  do?’’ 

Her  distress  was  very  pvoignant.  and  it  affected  him  so 
much  that  for  a  moment  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  an- 
S\ver  her. 

"  YJo-ild  it  not  be  best  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  to 
Bessie?”  he  said  at  la.st.  “  I  should  feel  a  biack.guard  for 
the  rest  of  my  life,  but  upon  my  word  I  have  a  miiid  to  do 
it.” 

"2\o.  no.”  she  cried  passionately.  "I  will  not  have  you 
do  it  1  You  shall  .swear  to  me  that  you  will  never  breathe 
a  word  to  Bessie.  I  will  nor  have  her  happiness  destroyed. 
Y.'e  h.ave  sinned,  we  mu.sT  suffer ;  not  Be^ie,  who  is  mno- 
ce!;  and  otdy  takes  her  right.  I  promised  my  dear  mother 
to  look  after  Bessie  and  protect  her.  and  I  will  liot  be  the 
Ciie  to  betra'y  her — never,  never  I  You  must  marry  her 
ai;d  I  must  go  away.  There  is  no  other  way  out  of  it.  ” 

jiJtn  looked  a?  her.  not  kiiowing  what  to  say  or  do.  A 
sharp  pang  of  despair  went,  through  him  as  he  watched 
tl;e  jjo-s.'i^siate.  pale  face,  and  the  great  eyes  dim  with 
tear^.  How  was  he  to  part  from  her?  He  put  out  his 
arms  to  take  her  in  them,  but  she  pushed  him  away  al¬ 
most  fiercely. 

“Have  you  no  honor?’’ .she  cried.  "Is  it  r>m  cU  hard 
enough  to  bear  vritboet  your  icmptiug  -met  I  ,  it 

is  all  done  with.  Finish  saddling  that  hoive  ■  us 


207 


start.  The  sooner  we  get  oIT  flin  sooner  it  will  be  over, 
unless  tlve  Boers  catcii  us  again  and  sii(X)t  ns.  which  for 
my  o'.virj)art  I  devoutly  hn])e  tl'.ey  may.  You  must  make 
up  your  mind  to  remember  that  I  am  nothing  but  your 
sisler-iu-law.  If  you  Avill  not  remember  it,  then  I  shall 
ride  away  and  leave  you  to  go  your  way  and  I  will  go. 
mine.” 

John  said  no  more.  Her  determination  was  as  crushing 
as  the  cruel  necessity  that  dictated  it.  What  was  n)ore, 
his  own  reason  and  sense  of  honor  approved  of  it,  what¬ 
ever  his  passion  might  pi-ompt  to  the  contrary-.  As  he 
turned  ^vearily  to  fiuisii  sarldliug  tiie  horses  he  almost  re¬ 
gretted,  with  Jess  that  they  had  not  both  been  drowned 
and  got  it  over. 

Of  coiu’se  the  only  saddles  that  they  had  were  tho.so  be¬ 
longing  to  the  dead  Boers,  winch  was  a  ery  awkward  for  a 
lady.  Luckily  for  hei-self,  howe\'er,  Jess  could,  from  con¬ 
stant  practice,  ride  almost  as  well  as  though  she  liad  been 
trained  to  the  ring,  and  was  even  capable  of  balancing  her¬ 
self  without  a  pommel  on  a  man’s  saddle,  having  often 
and  often  ridden  round  the  farm  in  that  way.  So  soon  as 
the  horses-  were  ready  she  astonished  John  by  clambering 
into  the  saddle  of  the  older  and  steadier  animal,  placing 
her  foot  in  the  stirrup-strap  and  announcing  that  she  was 
ready  to  start. 

”  You  had  bettor  ride  some  other  way,”  said  John.  “It 
isn’t  usual,  I  know,  but  you  will  tumble  off.” 

“You  shall  see,”  she  said,  with  a  little  laugh,  putting 
the  hoi’se  into  a  canter  as  she  spoke.  John  followed  her 
on  the  other  horse,  and  noted  \^ith  amazement  that  she  sat 
as  straight  and  steady  on  her  slippery  seat  as  thougli  she 
were  on  a'  hunting-saddle,  keeping  herself  from  falling  by 
an  instinctive  balancing  of  the  body  which  Avas  very  curi¬ 
ous  to  notice.  When,  they  got  Avell  on  to  the  plain  they 
halted  to  consider  their  route,  and  as  they  did  so  Jess 
pointed  to  the  long  lines  of  vnltures  de.scendiug  to  feast  on 
their  would-be  murderers. 

If  they  Avent  down  the  river  it  Avould  lead  them  to 
Standerton,  and.  there  they  Avould  bo  safe  if  Ihev  could  get 
into  the  Ioavii,  Avhich  Avas  garrisoned  by  English.  But 
thou,  as  they  had  gathered  from  tlie  conversatioji  of  tlieir 
escort,  Standerton  Avas  closels  iu\ested  bj"  the  Boers,  and 
trA’  a.r.d  pass  through  their  lines  Avas  more  than  thej’ dared 
to  do.  It,  was  true  that  thoA'  still  had  -the  pass  signed  by 
tlawi'wer  getieral,  but  after  wliat  had  occurred  they  Avere 
not  ...:.;.uuraily  somewhat  skeptical  about  the  A'alue  of 
pa.  .  "‘(I  certaiuly  unwilling  to  put  their  efficacy  to  th.o 

pr»  ■  '  o,  after  due  consideration,  they_  determined  to 

avoi..  .  .ludertou  and  ride  in  the  opposite  dii’ection  till  they 


208 


JESS. 


found  a  practicabl-e  foo^d  of  the  Vaal.  Fortunately,  thay, 
both  of  them  had  a  very  fair  idea  of  the  lay  of  the  laud; 
and,  in  addition  to  this,  John  possessed  a  small  compass 
fastened  to  his  watch-chain,  which  would  enable  him  to 
steer  a  pretty  correct  course  across  the  veldt — a  fact  that 
would  render  them  independent  of  the  roads.  On  the 
roads  they  would  run  a  momentiary  risk,  if  not  a  certainty, 
of  detection.  But  on  the  wide  veldt  the  chances  were 
they  would  meet  no  living  creature  except  the  wild  game. 
Should  they  come  across  houses  they  would  be  able  to 
avoid  them,  and  their  male  inhabitants  would  probably 
be  far  away  from  home  on  business  connected  with 
the  war. 

Accordingly  they  rode  ten  miles  or  more  along  the  bank 
without  seeing  a  soul,  when  they  reached  a  space  of 
bubbling,  shallow  water  that  looked  fordable.  Indeed,  an 
investigation  of  the  banks  revealed  the  fact  that  a  loaded 
wagon  had  passed  the  river  at  no  distant  date,  perhaps  a 
week  before. 

“That  is  good  enough,”  said  John;  “we  will  try  it.”  And 
without  further  ado  they  plunged  In. 

In  the  center  of  the  stream  the  water  was  strong  and 
deep,  and  for  a  few  yards  took  the  horses  off  their  legs, 
but  they  sitruck  out  boldly  till  they  got  their  footing  again; 
and  after  that  there  was  no  more  trouble.  On  the  further 
side  of  the  river  John  took  counsel  with  his  compass,  and 
steered  a  course  straight  for  Mooifontein.  At  midday  they 
offsaddled  the  horses  for  an  hour  by  some  water,  and 
ate  a  small  portion  of  their  remaining  food.  Then  they 
upsaddled  and  went  on  across  the  lonely,  desolate  veldt. 
No  hiiman  being  did  they  see  all  that  long  day.  The 
wide  country  v/.as  only  tenanted  by  great  herds  of  thun¬ 
dering  game  that  came  rushing  past  like  squadrons  of 
cavalry,  or  here  and  there  by  coteries  of  vultures,  hissing 
and  fighting  furiously  over  some  dead  buck.  And  so  at 
last  twilight  came  on  and  found  them  alone  in  the  wilder¬ 
ness. 

“Well,  what  is  to  be  done  now?”  said  John,  pulling  up  his 
tired  horse.  “It  will  be  dark  in  half  an  hour.” 

Jess  slid  from  her  saddle  as  she  answered:  “Get  off  and 
go  to  sleep,  I  suppose.” 

She  w:as  quite  right;  there  was  absolutely  nothing  else 
that  they  could  do;  so  John  set  to  work  and  hobbled  the 
horses,  tying  them  together  for  further  security,  for  it 
would  be  a  dreadful  thing  if  they  were  to  stray.  By  the 
time  that  this  was  done  the  twilight  was  gathering  into 
night,  and  the  two  sat  down  to  contemplate  their  surround¬ 
ing  with  feelings  akin  to  despair.  So  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a  vast  ^stretch  of 


JJSSS. 


m 


loneijr  pitwii,  across  which  the  night  wind  blew  in  dreary 
gusts,  making  the  green  grass  ripple  like  the  sea.  Thera 
was  absolutely  no  shelter  to  be  had,  nor  anything  to  break 
the  monotony,  unless  it  were  a  couple  of  ant-heaps  about 
five  paces  apart.  John  sat  down  on  one  of  the  ant-heaps, 
and  Jess  took  up  her  position  on  the  other,  and  there  they 
remained,  like  pelicans  in  the  wilderness,  ^vatching  the 
daylight  fade  out  of  the  day. 

“  Don’t  jmu  think  that  we  had  better  sit  together?”  sug¬ 
gested  John,  feebly.  ”  It  would  be  warmer,  you  see.” 

"No,  I  don’t,”  answered  Jess,  snappishly.  ‘‘I  am  very 
comfortable  as  1  am.” 

Unfortunately,  however,  this  was  not  the  e^'act  truih, 
for  poor  Jess'  "teeth  were  already  chattering  with  cold. 
Soon,  indeed,  they  found  that  the  only  way  to  keep  their 
blood  moving  was,  weary  as  they  were,  to  continTuilly 
tramp  up  and  down.  After  an  hour  and  a  half  or  so  of 
this,  the  breeze  dropped  and  the  tempoi*ature  got  more 
suitable  to  their  lightly-clad,  half  starved,  and  almost  ex¬ 
hausted  bodies.  Then  the  moon  came  up,  and  the  hyenas, 
or  wolves,  or  some  such  animals,  came  up  also  and  howled 
round  them — though  they  could  not  see  them.  These  hy¬ 
enas  proved  more  than  Jess’  nerves  could  stand,  and  sho 
.at  last  condescended  to  ask  John  to  share  her  atit-heap; 
there  they  sat,  shivering  in  each  other’s  arms,  throughout 
the  livelong  night.  Indeed,  had  it  not  been  for  the  warmth 
they  gathered  from  each  other,  it  is  probable  that  they 
wo\ild  have  fared  even  worse  than  they  did;  for,  though 
the  days  wei’e  hot,  the  niglits  were  now  beginning  to  get 
cold  on  the  high  veldt,  especially  'when,  as  at  present,  the 
air  had  recently  been  chilled  by  the  passage  of  a  heavy 
tempest. 

Another  drawback  to  their  romantic  situation  was  that 
they  were  positively  soaked  by  the  falling  dew.  There 
they  sat,  or  rather  cowered,  for  hour  after  hour  without 
sleeping,  for  sleep  was  impossible,  and  almost  without 
speaking;  and  yet,  notwithstanding  the  misery  of  their 
circumstances,  not  altogether  unhappyg  since  they  were 
united  in  their  misery.  At  last  the  eastern  sky  began  to 
turn  gray,  and  John  rose  and  shook  the  dew  from  his  hat 
and  clothes,  and  limped  off  as  well  as  his  half  frozen  limbs 
would  allow,  to  catch  the  horses,  which  were  standing  to¬ 
gether  some  yards  away,  looking  huge  and  ghostlike  in  the 
mist.  By  sunrise  he  had  managed  to  saddle  them  up.  and 
they  started  once  more.  This  time,  however,  he  iiad  to  lift 
Jess  on  to  the  saddle. 

About  eight  o’clock  they  halted  and  ate  tlieir  little  re¬ 
maining  food,  and  tlien  proceeded  slowly  enough,  for  the 
bor-ses  were  almost  as  tired  as  they  were,  .and  it  was  neces- 


sn 


JESS. 

eary  to  husbari-l  ^boin  if  tlipy  '.vore  to  reach  ilooifoutein 
by  "dai’K.  At  juidday  the}'  halted  for  at)  hoar  and  a  lialf , 
and  then,  feeling  almost  warn  ont.  went  on  once  more, 
reckoning  lliat  they  could  not  be  more  than  sixteen  or 
fieventeeii  miles  from  idooifontein. 

It  was  about  two  hours  after  this  that  a  catastrophe  hap¬ 
pened.  The  course  they  were  follov/ing  ran  down  the  side 
of  one  land  wave,  then  across  a  little  swampy  shirt,  and  up 
the  opposite  slope.  They  crossed  the  swampy  ^ound, 
walked  their  horses  up  to  the  crest  of  the  opposite  rise,  and 
found  themselves  face  to  face  with  a  party  of  aa-med  and 
mounted  Boers. 


CHAPTFE  XXXI. 

JESS  FINDS  A  FRIEND. 

The  Boers  swooped  down  on  them  with  a  shout,  like  a 
hawk  on  a  sparrow.  John  pulled  up  his  horse  and  drew 
his  revolver. 

“  Don’t,  don’t!”  cried  Jess;  “our  only  chance  is  to  be 
civil;”  whereon,  thinking  better  of  the  matter,  he  replaced 
.it,  and  v.dshed  the  leading  Boer  good -day. 

“What  are  you  doing  here?”  asked  the  Dutchman; 
whereon  Jess  explained  that  they  had  a  pass— v/hich 
John  promptly  produced — and  were  proceeding  to  IJooi- 
fontein. 

“  4h,  Om  Crofts  1”  said  the  Boer  as  he  took  the  pass; 
“you  are  lilcely  to  meet  a  bury ing-party  there,”  and  at 
the  time  Jess  did  not  understand  what  he  uaeant.  He  eyed 
the  pass  suspiciously  all  over,  and  then  asked  how  it  came 
to  be  stained  with  water. 

Jess,  not  daring  to  tell  the  truth,  said  that  it  had  been 
dropi^)ed  into  a  puddle.  The  Boer  was  about  to  return  it, 
wlieji  suddenly  his  eye  fell  upon  Jess’  saddle. 

“How  is  it  that  the  girl  is  riding  on  a  man’s  saddle?”  he 
.asked.  ‘  ’  AVhy ,  I  know  that  saddle ;  let  nie  look  at  the  other 
side.  Yes.  ihei’e  is  a  bullet-hole  through  the  flap.  That  is 
•Swart  Dirk’s  saddle.  Ilow  did  you  get  it?” 

"I  bought  it  from  him.’’  answered  Jess,  without  a  mo¬ 
ment’s  hesita’iou.  “  I  could  get  notliing  to  ride  on.” 

The  Boer  shook  his  liead.  “There  are  plenty  of  saddles 
in  Pretoria,”  he  said,  “  aiid  these  are  not  the  days  when  a 
man  sells  his  saddle  to  an  English  girl.  Ah !  and  that  o;  her 
is  a  Boer  saddle  too.  No  Englishman  has  a  saddle-cloth 
like  that.  This  pass  is  not  sufficient,  ”  lie  went  on.  in. a  cold 
tone;  “  it  should  have  been  countersigned  by  the  hjcai  com- 
jnaudant.  I  must  rtrresi  ycr;. ” 

Jess  began  to  make  further  excupe.s,  hut  }■"'  ^  e 


JESS. 


211 


peated;  *^'1  must  arrest  you,”  and  gave  t^^oine  orders  to  the 
men  with  him. 

‘‘We  are  in  for  it  again,”  she  said  to  John;  ”  and  there 
is  nothing  for  it  but  to  go.  ” 

‘‘1  sha’n’t  mind  so  much  if  only  they  will  give  us  some 
grub,”  said  John,  philosophically.  am  half  starved.” 

‘‘And  I  am  luilf  dead,”  said  Jess,  with  a  little  laugh. 
“  I  wish  they  would  shoot  us  and  have  done  with  it.” 

‘‘Come,  cheer  up,  Jess,”  he  answered;  “perhaps  the 
luck  is  going  to  change.” 

She  shook  her  head  with  an  air  of  one  who  expects  the 
worst,  and  then  some  gay  yoimg  spirits  among  the  Boers 
came  up  and  made  things  pleasant  by  an  exhibition  of 
their  polislied  wit,  which  they  cliiefly  exercised  at  the  ex¬ 
pense  of  poor  Jess,  whose  appearance  was,  as  may  well  be 
imagined,  exceedingly  wretched  and  forloim;  so  much  so 
that  it  w'ould  have  moved  the  pity  of  most  people.  But 
these  specimens  of  the  golden  youth  of  a  simple  pastoral 
folk  foupd  in  it  a  rich  mine  of  opportunities. 

They  asked  her  if  she  would  not  like  to  ride  straddle¬ 
legged,  and  if  she  had  bought  her  dress  from  an  old  Hot¬ 
tentot  who  had  done  with  it,  and  if  she  liad  been  roll¬ 
ing  about  tipsy  in  the  veldt  to  get  all  the  mud  on  it; 
and  generally  availed  themselves  of  this  unparalleled 
occasion  to  be  witty  at  the  expense  of  an  Englisii  lady  in 
sore  distress.  Indeed,  one  gay  young  dog,  called  Jacobus, 
was  proceeding  from  jokes  linguistic  to  jokes  practical. 
Perceiving  that  Jess  only  kept  her  seat  on  the  mail's 
saddle  by  the  exercise  of  a  curious  faculty  of  balance,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  upset  it 
and  make  her  fall  upon  her  face.  Accordingly,  with  a 
sudden  twist  of  the  rein  he  brought  his  horse  sbarjily 
against  her  wearied  animal,  neai'ly  tlirowing  it  down;  but 
she  was  too  quick  for  him,  and  saved  herself  by  catching 
at  the  mane.  Jess  said  nothing:  indeed,  she  made  no  an 
swer  to  her  tormentoi’S,  and,  fortunately,  John  understood 
very  little  of  what  they  were  saying.  Presenlly,  however, 
the  7/oung  Boer  made  another  attempt,  putting  out  his 
hand  to  give  her  a  sly  push  :  and.  as  it  happened.  John  saw 
it,  and  the  sight  of  the  indignity  made  the  blood  boil  in  Ins 
veins. 

Before  he  could  reflect  on  what  he  was  doing  he  was 
alongside  of  the  man.  and,  cnlching  him  1>y  the  ihroat, 
laid  hurled  him  backward  over  his  ci  i.]>|)cr  y  illi  all  ihe 
force  he  coidd  command.  The  man  fell  heavily  upon  his 
shoulders,  and  instantly  there  was  a  great  hubbub.  John 
drew  his  revoKer,  and  the  other  Boers  raised  their  rifles, 
and  Jess  iliought  that  there  was  a-n  m  d  <  f  it,  and  put  her 
fhand  before  her  face,  having  first  thaid-u'..  ..b  Jiu  for  aveng- 


S13 


JESS. 


iiig  the  insult  with  a  swift  flash  of  her  beautiful  eyes. 
And,  indeed,  in  another  second  it  would  have  been  all  ovei 
had  not  the  elder  man  who  bad  taken  the  pass,  interposed; 
tiie  fact  being  that  be  had  witnessed  the  pi’oceedings  that 
led  to  his  follower's  discomfiture,  and,  being  a  decent  man 
at  bottom,  had  disapproved  of  them. 

“Leave  them  alone  and  put  down  those  guns!”  he 
shouted.  “  It  served  Jacobus  right;  he  was  trying  to  push 
the  girl  from  the  horse.  Almighty!  it  is  not  wonderful 
those  English  call  us  brute  beasts  when  3*011  boys  do  such 
things.  Put  down  your  guns.  I  say,  and  one  ot  you  help 
Ja,cobus  up.  Be  looks  as  sick  as  a  buck  with  a  bullet 
through  it.” 

Accordingly  the  row  passed  over,  and  the  playful  Jaco¬ 
bus — whom  Jess  noted  with  satisfaction  was  exceedingly 
Bick  and  trembled  in  every  limb — ivas  with  difficulty 
hoisted  on  to  his  horse,  and  proceeded  on  his  journey  with 
not  a  single  bit  of  fun  left  in  him. 

A  little  while  after  this  Jess  pointed  out  a  long,  low^  hill 
that  lay  upon  the  flat  belt,  a  dozen  miles  or  so  away,  like 
a  stone  on  a  stretch  of  sand. 

■■  Look.”  she  said,  “  there  is  IVfooifontein  at  last!” 

“  We  are  not  there  yet,”  remarked  John,  sadly. 

Another  weaiyy  half-hour  passed,  and  then  they  suddenly, 
on  passing  over  a  crest,  saw  Bians  Coetzee’s  homestead 
lying  down  by  the  water  in  the  hollow.  So  that  was  where 
they  were  being  taken  to. 

Within  a  hundred  3*ards  of  the  house  the  Boers  halted 
and  consulted,  except  Jacobus,  wJio  went  on,  still  looking 
very  green.  Finally  the  elder  man  came  to  them  and  ad¬ 
dressed  Jess,  at  the  same  time  handing  her  back  the  pa.s.s. 
“  You  can  go  on  home,'’  he  said.  “  The  Englishman  must 
6ta3*  w'ith  us  till  we  find  out  more  about  him.” 

“  Be  sa3’s  that  I  can  go.  What  shall  I  do?”  asked  Jess. 
“  I  don’t  like  leaving  3*011  with  these.. men.” 

“Do?  why.  go.  of  course.  I  can  look  after  myself;  and 
if  I  can’t,  certainlv*  3"ou  won’t  be  able  to  help  me.  Per- 
ha’ps  3*ou  wuil  be  al)le  to  get  some  help  at  the  farm.  At 
any  rate,  a  ou  must  go.” 

“  Now*.  Englishman,”  said  the  Boer. 

“  Good  bye,  Jess,”  said  John.  “  God  bless  3mu!” 

“Good  bye,  John,”  she  answered,  looking  him  steadily 
in  the  e3*es  for  a  moment,  and  then  turning  away  to  hide 
the  tears  which  would  gather  in  her  own. 

And  thus  they*  parted. 

h.he  knew  her  way  now,  even  across  the  open  veldt,  for 
s!ie  dared  not  go  by  the  road.  There  was,  however,  3 
bridle-path  that  ran  oww  the  hill  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
and  for  this  sh>  ,  !>  ]ie  l  liei-  course.  It  was  five  o’clock 

n 


JESS. 


213 


now,  and  both  she  and  her  horse  were  in  a  condition  of 
great  exhaustion,  which  was  enhanced  in  her  case  by  want 
of  food  and  trouble  of  mind.  But  she  was  a  strong 
woman,  and  had  a  will  of  iron,  and  she  held  on  where 
most  women  would  have  died.  Jess  meant  to  get  to  Mooi- 
fontein  somehow,  and  she  knew  that  she  would  get  there. 
If  she  could  only  reach  the  place  and  get  some  help  sent  to 
her  lover,  she  did  not  greatly  care  what  happened  to  her 
afterward. 

The  pace  of  the  horse  she  was  riding  got  slower  and 
Blower.  From  the  ambling  canter  into  which  at  first  she 
managed  occasionally  to  force  it,  and  which  is  the  best 
pace  to  travel  in  South  Africa,  it  oontinually  collapsed  into 
a  rough,  short  trot,  which  was  agony  to  her,  riding  as  she 
was,  and  from  that  into  a  walk.  Indeed,  just  before  sun¬ 
set,  or  a  little  after  six  o’clock,  the  walk  became  final.  At 

last  they  reached  the  rising  ground  that  stretched  up  the 
slope  to  the  Mooifonteiij  hill,  and  here  the  poor  beast  fell 
down,  utterly  worn  out.  Jess  slipped  off  and  tried  to  d^rag 
it  up,  but  failed.  It  had  not  a  yard  of  go  left  in  it.  So  she 

did  what  she  could,  pulling  off  the  bridle  and  undoing  the 

girth,  so  that  the  saddle  would  fall  off  if  the  horse  ever 
managed  to  rise.  Then  she  set  to  work  to  walk  over  the 
hill.  The  poor  horse  watched  her  go  with  melancholy  eyes, 
knowing  that  it  was  being  deserted.  First  it  neighed,  then 
with  a  desperate  effort  struggled  -to  its  feet  and  ran  after  her 
a  hundred  yards  or  iso,  only  to  fall  down  again  at  last.  Jess 
turned  and  saw  it,  and,  exhausted  as  she  was,  she  i)OSitively 
ran  to  get  away  from  the  look  in  those  big  eyes.  That  night 
there  was  a  ooild  rain,  in  which  the  horse  perished,  as  “poor” 
horses  are  apt  to  do. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  Jess  at  length  reached  the  top 
of  the  hill  and  looked  down.  She  knew  the  spot  well,  and 
from  it  she  could  always  see  the  light  from  the  kitchen 
window  of  the  house.  To-night  there  was  no  light.  Won¬ 
dering  what  it  could  mean,  and  feeling  a  fresh  chill  of 
doubt  creep  round  her  heart,  she  scrambled  Oiu  down  the  MU. 
When  she  was  about  half-way  down  a  shower  of  sparks 
suddenly  shot  up  into  the  air  from  the  spot  where  the  house 
should  be,  caused  by  the  fall  of  a  piece  of  wall  into  the 
smoldering  embers  beneath.  Again  Jess  paused,  wondering 
land  aghast.  What  could  have  happened?  Determined  at 
all  hazards  to  discover,  she  crept  on  very  cautiously.  Be¬ 
fore  she  had  gone  another  twenty  yards,  however,  a  hand 
was  suddenly  laid  upon  her  arm.  She  turned  quickly,  too 
paralyzed  with  fear  to  cry  out,  and  as  she  did  so  a  voice 
that  was  familiar  to  her  whispered;  “Missie  Jess,  iMUeele 
Jess,  is  it  .yoii?’'  ’uto  her  ear.  “I  am  Jantje.” 


814 


JESS. 


She  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  her  heart,  whicH  had  stood 
still,  began  ro  move  again.  Here  was  a  friefid  at  last. 

“  I  heard  yon  coming  down  the  hill,  though  you  came  so 
softly,"  he  said;  "but  I  could  not  tell  who  it  was,  because 
you  jumped  from  rock  to  rock,  and  did  not  walk  as  usual. 
But  I  thought  it  was  a  woman  with  boots;  I  cottkl  not  see, 
because  the  light  all  falls  dead  against  the  hill,  and  the  stars 
are  not  up.  So  I  got  to  the  left  of  your  path — for  the  wind 
is  blowing  from  the  right~and  waited  till  you  had  passed 
and  winded  you.  Then  I  knew  who  you  were  for  certain — 
either  you  or  Missie  Bessie ;  but  iMissie  Bessie  is  shut  up ;  so 
it  could  not  be  her.  ’  ’ 

"  Bessie  shut  up!"  ejaculated  Jess,  not  even  pausing  to 
marvel  at  tlie  doglike  instinct  that  had  enabled  the  Hot¬ 
tentot  to  identify  her.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"This  way,  missie,  come  this  way  and  I  will  tell  you;" 
and  he  led  her  to  a  fantastic  pile  of  rocks  in  which  it  was 
his  wild  habit  to  sleep.  Jess  knew  the  place  well,  and  had 
often  peeped  into,  but  never  entered,  the  Hottentot's  kennel. 

"  Stop  a  bit,  missie.  I  will  go  and  light  a  candle;  I  have 
some  iri  there,  and  they  can’t  see  the  light  fj’om  the  out¬ 
side,"  and  accordingly  he  vanished.  In  a  few  seconds  he 
returned,  and,  taking  her  by  the  sleeve,  led  her  along  a 
winding  passage  between  great  bowlders,  till  they  came  to 
a  beehole  in  the  rocks,  through  whiclr  she  could  see  the 
light  shiTiing.  Going  down  on  his  hands  and  knees  Jantje 
crept  through  and  Jess  followed  him.  She  found  herself 
in  a  small  apartment,  about  six  feet  square  by  eight  high, 
principally  formed  b}^  the  accidental  falling  together  of 
several  big  bowlders,  and  roofed  in  by  one  great  natural 
slab.  The  place,  which  was  lighted  by  an  end  of  candle 
stuck  upon  the  floor,  was  very  dirty,  as  was  to  be  expected 
from  a  Hottentot’s  den,  and  in  it  were  collected  an  enor¬ 
mous  variety  of  odds  and  ends.  As,  discarding  a  three- 
legged  stool  that  Jantje  offered  her,  Jess  sank  down  upon 
a  pile  of  skins  in  the  corner,  her  eye  fell  upon  a  collectiou 
worthy  of  an  old-rag-and-bone  shop. 

The  side':!  of  the  chamber  were*  festooned  v'iLh  every  im¬ 
aginable  garment,  from  the  white  full-dress  coat  of  an 
Austrian  olhcc-r  down  to  a  shocking  pair  of  ccrdiu'oys 
Jantje  had  "lifted  ’’  from  the  body  of  a  bushman  which  he 
had  discovered  in  his  rambles.  .\11  these  were  in  various 
stages  of  decay,  and  ob\'ionsly  tlie  result  of  years  of  pa 
tient  collecting.  In  the  corners  again  were  sticks,  kerries, 
and  two  assegais,  a  number  of  queer-shaped  stones  and 
bones,  handles  of  broken  table-knives,  bits  of  the  locks  of 
guns,  portions  of  an  America.n  clock,  and  various  other 
articles  winch  tliis  human  jackdaw  had  picked  up  and 
hidden  o.w;\y'  here.  Altogether  it  was  a  sti-ange  places 


JESS. 


315 


and  it  vaguely  occurred  to  Jess,  as  she  sank  back  upon 
the  dirty  skins,  that,  had  it  not  been  for  tne  old  (dotiies 
and  the  wreck  of  the  American  clock,  she  would  have 
seen  a  very  fair  example  of  the  dwellings  of  primeval 
man. 

"Stop  before  you  begin,”  she  said.  "Have  you  any¬ 
thing  to  eat  here?  I  am  nearly  starving.” 

Jantje  grinned  knowingly,  and,  grubbing  in  a  heap  of 
rubbish  in  a  corner,  fished  out  a  gourd  with  a  piece  of  flat 
sheet-iron  which  had  once  formed  the  back  jjlate  of  a 
stove,  placed  on  the  top.  It  contained  "raaas,  ”  or  curdled 
buttermilk,  which  a  woman  had  brought  hiui  down  that 
very  morning  from  a  neighboring  kraal,  and  was  destined 
for  Jantje’ s  own  supper.  Hungry  as  he  was  hijnself,  for 
he  had  had  no  food  all  day,  he  gave  it  to  Jess  without  a 
rnornenfs  hesitation,  togetlaer  with  a  veoodeu  spoon,  mid, 
squatting  on  the  rock  before  her,  watched  her*  cat  it  wuth 
guttural  exclamations  of  satisfaction.  Not  laiowing  that 
she  was  robbing  a  hungry  man,  Jess  ate  the  mass  to  the 
last  spoonful,  and  was  grateful  to  feel  the  sensation  of 
gnawing  sickness  leave  her. 

"  Now,”  she  said,  "  tell  me  what  you  mean." 

Thereon  Jantje  began  at  the  beginning  and  related  the 
ev'ents  of  the  day,  so  far  as  he  was  acquainted  with  them. 
Wiien  he  came  to  where  the  old  man  was  dragged,  with 
kicks  and  blows  and  ignominy,  from  his  own  house.  Jess’ 
eyes  flashed,  and  she  positively  ground  her  teeth  with  in¬ 
dignation;  and  as  for  her  feelings,  when  she  learned  tha,t 
ho  was  condemned  to  death  and  to  be  shot  at  dawn  on  the 
morrow,  they  simply  baffle  description.  Of  the  Bessie 
complication  Jantje  was  quite  ignorant,  and  could  only  tell 
her  that  Frank  Muller  had  an  interview  with  her  sister  in 
the  little  plantation,  and  that  after  that  she  was  shut  up  in 
th.e  store-room,  where  she  still  was.  But  this  was  quite 
enough  tor  Jess,  who  knew  Muller’s  character  better, 
perhaps,  than  anybody  else,  and  was  not  by  any  means  ig¬ 
norant  of  his  designs  upon  Bessie. 

A  few  moments’  thought  put  the  key  of  the  matter  into 
her  hmid.  S’ne  saw  now  what  was  the  reason  of  the  grant¬ 
ing  of  the  pass,  and  of  the  determined  aiid  partially  suc¬ 
cessful  attempt  at  wholesale  murder  of  which  they  had 
beer,  ihp  victiius.  She  sa'w,  too.  why  her  old  uncle  had 
been  condemned  to  dea'.li — that  was  to  be_  used  as  a  lev^er 
with  Bessie;  the  man  was  (;a[>able  even  of  that.  Yes,  she 
saw  it  all  as  clear  as  daylight;  and  in  her  heart  she  swore, 
helpless  as  she  seemed  to  be,  that  she  wouM  And  a  way  to 
prevent  it,'  But  what  way  ?  v/hat  Avay?  if  only  John 

were  her<'!  But  lie  was  not,  so  she  must  act  witliout  him, 
if  only  s'e-  r  ,  :]•.]  :,ee  the  way  to  action.  Sh;;  ura* 


218 


JESS. 


/ 


of  all  goi'ut,  doivii  boldly  and  facing  Muuor,  and  to* 
nouncing  him  as  a  murderer  before  his  men;  but  a  mo¬ 
ment’s  reflection  showed  that  this  was  limpractioable. 
For  his  own  safety  he  would  be  obliged  to  stop  her  mouth 
somehow,  and  the  best  she  could  expect  would  be  to  be  in¬ 
carcerated  and  rendered  quite  powerless.  If  only  she 
could  manage  to  communicate  with  Bessie!  At  any  rate, 
it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  she  should  know  what  wtaa 
going  on.  She  might  as  well  be  a  hundred  miles  aw’ay  as 
a  hundred  yards. 

“Jantje,”  she  said,  “tell  me  where  the  Boers  are.” 

“Some  are  in  the  wagon-house,  missie;  some  are  on  sentry, 
and  the  rest  are  down  by  the  wagon  they  brought  with  them 
and  outspanned  behind  the  guns  there.  The  cart  is  there, 
too,  that  came  just  before  you  did,  wiith  the  clergym'an 
in  it.” 

“And  where  is  Frank  Muller?” 

“I  don’t  know,  missie;  but  he  brought  a  round  tent  with 
him  in  the  wagon,  and  it  is  pitched  between  the  two  big 
gums.” 

“Jantje,  I  must  go  down  there  and  find  out  what  is  goiing 
on,  and  you  must  come  with  me.” 

“You  will  be  caught,  missie.  There  is  a  sentry  at  the 
back  of  the  wagon-house  and  two  in  front.  But,”  he  added, 
“perhaps  we  might  get  near.  I  will  go  out  and  look 
at  the  night.” 

Presently  he  returned  and  said  that  a  “small  rain”  had 
come  on,  and  the  clouds  covered  up  the  stars  so  that  it  was 
very  dark. 

“Well,  let  us  go  at  once,”  said  Jess. 

“Missie,  you  had  better  not  go,”  answered  the  Hotten¬ 
tot.  “You  will  get  wet  and  the  Boers  will  catch  you.  Better 
let  me  go.  I  can  creep  about  like  a  snake,  and  if  the  Boers 
catch  me  it  won’t  matter.” 

“You  must  come,  too;  hut  I  am  going,  I  must  find 
out.” 

Then  the  Hottentot  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  yielded, 
and.  having  extinguished  the  candle,  silently  as  ghosts  they 
crept  out  into  the  night. 


OHAPTEB  XXXII. 

HE  SHAM,  DIE. 

The  night  was  still  and  very  dark.  A  soft,  cold  rain, 
euch  as  one  often  gets  in  the  Wakkerstroom  and  New  Scot¬ 
land  districts  of  the  Transvaal,  and  which  more  resembles 
a  true  nortii-couutry  mist  than  anything  else,  was  falling 
gently  but  persistently.  This  condition  of  affairs-  was  as 
favorable  'Possible  to  their  enterprise,  and  uader  cover 


f 


jEsa. 


217 


»£  it  the  Hioctentot  and  the  white  ©irl  crept  far  down  the 
hill  to  within  twelve  or  fourteen  paces  of  the  back  of  the 
Wagon-house.  Then  Jantje,  who  was  leading,  suddenly  put 
back  his  hand  and  checked  her,  and  at  that  moment  Jess 
caught  the  sound  of  a  sentry’s  footstep  as  he  tramped 
leisurely  u(p  and  down.  For  a  couple  of  minutes  or  so 
they  stopped  thus,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  when  sud¬ 
denly  a  man  came  round  the  corner  of  the  building  hold¬ 
ing  a  lantern  in  his  hand.  On  seeing  the  lantern  Jess’  first 
impulse  was  to  fly,  but  Jantje,  by  a  motion,  made  her  under¬ 
hand  that  she  was  to  stop  still.  The  m,an  with  the  lantern 
advanced  toward  the  other  man,  holding  the  light  above  his 
head,  and  looking  dim  and  gigantic  in  the  mist  and  rain. 
Presently  he  turned  his  face,  and  Jess  saw  that  it  was  Prank 
Muller  himself.  He  stood  thus  for  a  moment  waiting  till  the 
sentry  was  near  to  him. 

“You  can  go  to  your  supper,’’  he  said.  “Come  back  in 
half  an  hour.  I  wiill  be  responsible  for  the  prisoners  till 
then.’’ 

The  man  growled  out  an  answer,  something  about  the  rain, 
and  then  dejmrted  round  the  end  of  the  building,  followed 
by  Muller. 

“Now  then,  come  on,”  whispered  Jantje;  “there  is  a  hole 
in  the  store-room  wall,  and  you  may  be  able  to  speak  to  Miss 
Bessie.” 

Jess  did  not  require  a  second  invitation,  but  slipped  up 
to  the  wall  in  five  seconds.  Passing  her  hand  over  the 
stonework,  she  found  the  air-hoie,  which  she  remembered 
well,  for  they  used  to  play  bo-peep  there  as  children,  and 
was  about  to  whisper  through  it,  when  suddenly  the  door 
at  the  other  end  opened,  and  Prank  Muller  entered,  bear¬ 
ing  the  lantern  in  his  hand.  For  a  moment  be  stood  on 
the  threshold,  opening  the  slide  of  the  lantern  in  o<rder  to 
increase  the  light.  His  hat  was  off,  and  he  had  a  cape  of 
dark  cloth  thrown  over  his  shoulders,  which  seemed  to  add 
to  his  great  breadth,  and  the  thought  flashed  through  the 
mind  of  Jess  as  she  looked  at  him  through  the  hole,  and 
the  light  struck  upon  his  face  and  form,  and  glinted  down 
his  golden  beard,  that  he  was  the  most  magnificent  specimen 
of  humanity  she  had  ever  seen. 

In  another  instant  he  had  turned  the  lantern  round  and 
revealed  her  dear  sister  Bessie  to  her  gaze.  Bessie  was 
seated  upon  one  of  the  half-empty  sacks  of  mealies,  ap¬ 
parently  half  asleep,  for  she  opened  her  wide  blue  eyes  and 
looked  round  apprehensively  like  one  suddenly  awakened. 
Her  golden  curls  were  in  diso-rder  and  falling  over  her  fair 
forehead,  and  her  face  was  very  pale  and  troubled,  and 
marked  beneath  the  eyes  with  deep  blue  lines.  Catching 
eight  of  her  visitor,  she  rose  hurriedly  and  retreated  as 


JESS. 


US 

far  from  him  as  the  pile  of  sacks  a;:d  pulatcos  \voul4 

allow. 

“  What  is  it?"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  gave  jmu  my 
answer.  Why  do  you  come  to  torment  me  again?" 

He  placed  the  lantern  upon  an  upright  seek  of  mealies, 
and  carefully  balanced  it  before  he  answered.  Jess  could 
see  that  he  was  taking  time  to  (consider. 

‘‘Let  us  recapitulate,"  he  said,  at  length,  in  his  full,  rich 
voice.  ‘  ‘  The  ■  position  is  this.  I  gave  yo’u  this  morning 
the  choice  between  consenting  to  marry  me  to-morrow, 
and  seeitag  your  old  uncle  and  benefactor  shot.  Further, 
I  assured  you  that  if  you  would  not  consent  to  marry  me 
your  uncie  should  be  shot,  and  that  I  would  then  make 
you  mine,  dispensing  with  the  ceremony  of  marriage.  Is 
that  not  so?" 

Bessie  made  no  answer,  and  he  continued,  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  her  face,  and  thoughtfully  stroking  his  beard ; 

‘‘Silence  gives  consent.  I  will  go  on.  Before  a  man 
can  be  shot  according  to  law,  he  must  be  tried  and  con¬ 
demned  according  to  law.  Your  uncle  has  been  tried,  and 
has  been  condemned." 

"  I  heard  it  all,  cruel  murderer  that  you  are."  said  Bes¬ 
sie,  lifting  her  head  for  the  first  time. 

"  So !  i  thought  you  would,  through  the  crack.  That  is 
why  I  had  you  put  into  this  place;  it  would  not  have 
looked  well  to  bring  you  before  the  court,"  and  he  took 
the  light  and  examined  the  crevice.  ‘‘This  place  is  badly 
built,"  he  went  on,  in  a  careless  tone;  "  look,  there  is  an¬ 
other  space  there  at  the  back,”  and  he  actually  came  up 
to  it  and  held  the  lantern  clo.se  to  it,  so  that  the  light  from 
it  shone  through  into  Jess’  eyes  and  nearly  blinded  her. 
She  shut  them  quickly,  so  that  the  gleam  refiected  from 
them  should  not  betray  her,  and  then  held  her  breath  and 
remained  as  still  as  the  dead.  In  another  second  he  took 
away  the  light  and  replaced  it  on  the  mealie  bag. 

"  So  you  say  you  saw  it  all.  Well,  it  must  have  shown 
you  that  I  was  in  earnest.  The  old  man  took  it  v.^ell,  did  ho 
not?  He  is  a  brave  man.  and  I  respect  him.  1  fancy  that 
he  will  not  move  a  muscle  at  the  last.  Tha.t  coines  of  English 
blood,  you  see.  It  is  the  best  in  the  world,  and  I  am  proud 
to  have  it  in  my  veins." 

"Cannot  you  stop  torturing  me  and  say  what  you  have 
to  say?"  asked  Bes.sie. 

"I  had  r.o  wish  to  torture  you.  but  if  you  like  I  will 
come  to  the  point  It  is  this.  Will  you  no'w  consent 
to  luiirry  me  Lo-morrow  moruii^g  at  suu  up,  or  am  1  to 
be  f^u-eed.  in  carry  the  sentence  on  yonr  old  uncle  into 
effect?" 

"  '■  d  '  ,  ,1-  T  -will  not.  I  hate  you  and  'Icfy  you.'’ 


rFs&. 


219 


Muiler  looked  at  ber  ooldly,  and  then  drev/  Ih'k  pocket- 
book  frotr,  hid  pocket  and  cxtnicted  from  it  the  deaih- war¬ 
rant  and  a  pencil. 

“Look,  Bessie,”  he  said.  “  This  is  your  uncle’s  death- 
warrant.  At  present  it  is  valueless  and  informal,  for  I 
lia'.  e  not  yet  signed,  though,  as  3’ou  will  see,  I  have  been 
careful  tliat  cvcn-ybodj"  else  should.  If  once  I  place  my 
signature  there  it  cannot  be  revoked,  and  the  sentence 
must  be  carried  into  effect.  If  jmu  persist  in  jmur  re¬ 
fusal  I  v/ili  sign  it  before  3'our  e;ves,  ”  and  he  placed 
tire  paper  on  tlie  book  and  took  the  pencil  in  his  right 
hand. 

“Oh,  3U)u  cannot,  you  cannot  be  such  a  fiend,”  wailed 
the  W' retched  w’oman,  v/riuging  her  hands. 

“1  assure  jmu  you  are  mistaken.  I  both  can  and  will. 
I  Inive  gone  too  far  to  turn  back  for  the  sake  of  one  old 
Engiisliman.  Listen,  B8.ssie.  Your  lover  Niel  is  dead,  that 
3'ou  known” 

Here  Jess  behind  the  v/alt  felt  inclined  to  cry  out  “  It  is 
a  lie!”  but,  remembering  tiie  absolute  necessity'  of  silence, 
checked  herself. 

“  And  wluit  is  more,”  Vv'cnt  on  Muller,  “  jmur  sister  Jess 
i'^  dead  too;  she  died  two  d;i,ys  ago.” 

“J^essdead!  Joss  dead'  It  is  not  true.  How  do  jmu 
kiiO'V  that  she  is  decul.''” 

“Never  mind;  I  will  tell  \’Ou  when  we  are  married. 
She  is  dead,  and  except  for  your  uncle  3’ou  are  alone  in  the 
w(;rld.  If  3'ou  persist  in  this  lie  will  soon  be  dead  too,  and 
his  blood  will  be  upon  your  he;ul,  for  jmu  will  have  ;uur- 
derc:l  him.” 

“And  if  I  were  to  say  3:cs,  b.ow  would  that  help  I'.iin?” 
slie  cried,  wildly.  “  He  is  condemued  b}^  3*0;; r  court  mar¬ 
tial— you  would  0UI3-  deceive  me  and  murder  him  after 
all. 

“  On  honor,  no.  Before  the  marriage  I  will  give  this 
vvju'raut  tb  the  pastor,  and  lie  shall  burn  it  as  soon  as  the 
service  is  said.  But,  Bessie,  don’t  vmu  see  that  these  fools 
wiio  tried  your  uncle  are  onl3^  like  clay  in  my  bands?  I 
can  bend  them  this  wny  and  that,  and  whatever  the  song 
I  snig  ihe3'  will  echo  it.  Tlu;y  do  not  wish  to  shoot  vmur 
uncie,  and  will  be  glad,  indeed,  to  get  out  of  it.  Your 
uncle  sliall  go  in  safety  to  Natal,  or  stay  here  if  he  wills. 
Ills  propci’tv"  sliall  be  sccurc-d  for  him,  and  compensation 
paid  for  the  burning  of  his  I'.ousc.  I  swear  it  before  God.” 

Bho  looked  up  at  iiim,  and  he  could  see  that  she  was  in- 
duied  to  believe  him. 

“  it  is  true,  Bessie,  it  is  true  -I  will  rebuild  the  place  ray- 
self,  and  if  i  can  find  the  man  who  tired  ii  he  shall  be  shot. 
Come,  listen  to.  me,  and  be  leasonable.  The  man  .you  loved 


JESS. 


223 

is  dead,  nu  . -nomit  of  si^;hing  can  bring  him  to  yon? 
arms.  I  alone  am  left— I,  ^v ho  love  you  better  than  Ufo, 
better  than  man  ever  loved  a  woman  before.  Look  at  me, 
am  I  not  a  proper  man  for  any  maid  to  w^ed,  though  1  be 
half  a  Boei’?  And  I  have  the  brains,  too,  Bessie,  the  brains 
that  shall  make  us  both  great.  We  were  made  for  each 
other — I  have  knowji  it  for  years,  and  slowly,  slov/ly,  I 
have  wmrked  my  way  to  you  till  dt  last  you  are  in  my 
reach.”  and  he  stretched  out  both  his  arms  toward  her. 

*•  iVfy  darling,”  he  went  on.  in  a  soft,  lualf-dreamy  voice, 
”  my  love  and  my  desire,  yield,  now — yield  !  Do  not  force 
this  new  crime  upon  mo.  I  want  to  grow  good  for  your 
sake,  and  have  done  with  bloodshed.  'When  you  are  my 
wife  I  believe  that  the  evil  will  go  out  of  me,  and  I  shall 
grow  good.  Yield,  and  never  shall  woman  have  had  such 
a  husband  as  I  will  be  to  you.  I  will  make  your  life  soft 
and  beautiful  to  you  as  women  love  life  to  be.  You  shall 
have  everything  that  money  can  buy  and  power  bring. 
Yield  for  your  uncle’s  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  great 
love  I  bear  you.” 

As  he  spoke  he  was  slowly  di'awing  nearer  Bessie,  whose 
face  wore  a  half-fascinated  expression.  As  ho  came  the 
wi-otched  woman  gathered  herself  together  and  put  out  h.er 
hand  to  repulse  him.  “  No,  no,”  she  cried,  '■  I  hate  you— 
I  cannot  be  false  to  him,  living  or  dead.  I  shall  kill  my¬ 
self— I  know  I  shall.” 

He  made  no  answer,  but  simply  came  always  nearer  till 
at  last  his  strong  arms  closed  round  her  .shrinking  form  and 
drew  her  to  him  as  easily  as  though  slie  w^ere  a  be.  be.  And 
then  all  at  once  she  seemed  to  yield.  That  embrace  wuis 
the  outward  sign  of  his  cruel  mastery,  a; id  she  struggled 
no  more,  mentally  or  physically. 

”  Will  you  marry  -me,  darling— will  you  marry'  me?” 
he  whispered,  with  his  lips  so  close  to  the  golden  curls 
that  Jess,  strairdng  her  e.ars  outside,  could  only  just  catch 
the  words; 

"  Oh.  I  sup])ose  sf);  but  T  shrdl  <lie  -  if  will  kill  me.” 

He  straitied  her  to  his  heai-t  and  kissed  her  beautiful 
face  again  a.nd  ag;un,  and  next  moment  Jess  heard  the 
footsteps  of  the  returning  sentry  an<l  saw  him  leave  go  of 
her.  Jantje.  too,  <-nnght  her  by  tlie  hai'.d  and  dragged  her 
away  from  liio  wail,  and  in  ten  seconds  more;  she  wa.s  once 
jnore  a.scendi  ;g  t.he  hillside  toward  the  Hottentot.'s  keu- 
iiel.  She  had  gone  to  find  out  how  matu-rs  lay,  ai.d  she 
had,  indeed,  found  out.  To  altemi)t  i o  |'/Oi’tra.y  t lie  fury, 
the  indignation,  nsid  the  thirst  to  avongod  upon  the 
fieiid  who  had  attempted  to  miuah'r  her  and  hei'  lover,  and 
had  bought  her  dear  sister’s  honor  at  the  I'.riop  of  her  in¬ 
nocent  old  uncle’s  life,  would  be  impossible.  All  her  weari* 


JESS. 


221 


ness  was  forgotten;  she  was  mad  with  what  sho  had  seen 
and  heard,  with  the  knowledge  of  what  had  been  done  and 
what  was  about  to  be  done.  She  even  forgot  her  passion 
lin  it,  and  swore  that  Muller  should  never  marry  Bessie 
while  she  lived  to  prevent  it.  Had  she  been  a  bad  woman 
she  might  have  seen  herein  an  opportunity,  for  Bessie  once 
married  to  Muller,  John  would  be  free  to  marry  her;  but 
the  idea  never  even  entered  her  mind.  Whatever  Jess’ 
errors  may  have  been  she  was  a  self-isacriflcing,  honorable 
woman,  and  would  have  died  rather  than  take  such  an 
advantage.  Presently  they  reached  the  shelter  again  and 
crept  in. 

“Light  a  candle,”  said  Jess. 

Jantje  fumbled  about  and  finally  struck  a  match.  The 
bit  of  candle  they  had  been  using,  however,  was  nearly 
burned  out,  so  from  the  rubbish  in  the  corner  he  produced 
a  box  full  of  “ends,”  some  of  them  three  oir  four  inches  long, 
Jess,  in  that  queer  sort  of  way  in  which  trifles  do  strike  us 
when  the  mind  is  undergoing  a  severe  strain,  instantly  re¬ 
membered  that  for  years  she  had  been  unable  to  discover 
what  became  of  the  odd  pieces  of  the  candles  used  in  the 
house.  Now  the  mystery  was  explained. 

“Now  go  outside  and  leave  me.  I  want  to  think.” 

The  Hottentot  obeyed,  and,  seated  there  upon  the  heap 
of  skins,  her  forehead  resting  on  her  hand  and  her  fingers 
run  through  her  silky  hair,  now  wet  with  the  rain,  she 
began  to  review  the  position.  It  was  evident  to  her  that 
Prank  Muller  would  be  as  good  as  his  word.  She  knew  him 
too  well  to  doubt  it  for  a  moment.  If  Bess'ie  did  not  marry 
him  he  would  murder  the  old  man,  as  he  had  tried  to  mur¬ 
der  her  and  John,  only  this  time  judicially,  and  then  abduct 
her  afterward.  Bessie  was  the  only  price  that  he  was  pre¬ 
pared  to  take  in  exchange  for  her  uncle’s  life.  But  it  was 
impossible  to  allow  Bessie  to  be  so  sacrificed;  the  thought 
was  horrible  to  her. 

How,  then,  was  it  to  be  prevented?  She  thought  again 
of  going  down  and  confronting  Frank  Muller,  and  openly 
aocusing  him  of  her  attempted  murder,  only,  however,  to 
dismiss  the  idea.  Who  would  believe  her?  And  if  they  did 
believe,  what  good  would  it  do?  She  would  only  be  im¬ 
prisoned  and  kept  out  of  barm’s  way,  or  possibly  murdered 
without  further  ado.  Then  she  thought  of  attempting  to 
communicate  with  her  uncle  and  Bessie,  to  tell  them  that 
John  was,  so  far  as  she  knew,  alive,  only  to  recognize  the 
impossibility  of  doing  so  now  that  the  sentry  was  back. 
Besides,  what  object  could  be  served?  The  knowledge 
*  that  John  was  alive  might.  It  Is  true,  nerve  up  Bessie  to 
jesist  Muller,  but  then  the  sole  result  would  he  that  the 
#old  man  would  be  shot.  Bismissing  this  from  her  mind. 


§23 


JESS. 


slie  began  to  consider  whether  they  could  obtain  assistanca. 
Alas !  it  was  impossible.  The  only  people  from  whom  she 
could  hope  for  help  would  be  the  natives,  and  now  that 
the  Boers  had  triumphed  over  the  English  (for  this  much 
she  had  gathered  from  her  captors  and  from  Jantje),  it 
was  very  doubtful  if  they  would  dare  to  help  her.  Be¬ 
sides,  at  the  best  it  would  take  twenty-four  hours  to  col¬ 
lect  a  force,  and  that  would  be  too  late.  The  thing  was 
hopeless.  Nowhere  could  she  see  a  ray  of  light. 

“  What,”  she  said  aloud  to  herself,  ”  what  is  there  in  the 
world  that  will  stop  a  man  like  Frank  Muller?” 

And  then  all  of  an  instant,  the  answer  rose  up  in  her 
brain  as  though  through  an  inspiration; 

Death!" 

Death,  and  death  alone,  would  stop  him.  For  a  minute 
she  kept  the  idea  ni  her  mind  till  she  was  familiarized  with 
it,  ajid  then  it  was  driven  out  by  another  that  followed 
swiftly  on  its  track.  Frank  Muller  must  die,  and  die  be¬ 
fore  the  morning  light.  By  no  other  possible  means  could 
the  Gordian  knot  be  cut,  and  both  Bessie  and  her  old  uncle 
saved.  If  he  were  dead  he  could  not  marry  Bessie,  and 
if  he  died  with  the  warrant  unsigned  their  uncle  could  not 
be  executed.  That  was  the  answer  to  the  riddle,  and  a  ter- 
I'ible  one  it  was. 

But,  after  all,  it  was  just  that  he  sliould  die, ‘for  had  he 
not  murdered  and  attempted  murder?  Surely  if  ever  a 
man  deserved  a  swift  and  awful  doom  it  was  Prank  Muller. 

And  so  this  apparently  helpless  girl,  crouched  upon  the 
ground  a  torn  and  bespattered  fugitive  in  the  miserable 
hiding-hole  of  a  Hottentot,  arraigned  the  powerful  leader 
of  men  before  the  tribunal  of  her  conscience,  and  Avithout 
pity,  if  Avithout  Avrath,  passed  upon  him  a  sentence  of  ex¬ 
tinction. 

But  Avho  was  to  bo  tha executioner?  A  dreadful  thought 
flashed  into  her  mind  and  made  her  heart  stand  still,  but 
she  dismissed  it.  She  had  not  come  to  that  yet.  Her  eyes 
vaudered  round  the  kennel  and  lit  upon  Jantje’s  assegais 
and  sticks  in  the  corner,  and  then  she  got  another  inspira- 
tibii.  Jantje  should  do  the  deed.  John  had  told  her  one 
day— told  her,  Avhen  they  Avere  sitting  together  in  the 
Palatial  at  Pretoria — the  whole  of  Jantje's  aAvful  story 
about  the  massacre  of  his  relatives  by  Fi-ank  Muller  twenty 
years  before,  of  which,  indeed,  she  already  knew  some¬ 
thing.  It  Avould  be  most  fitting  that  this  fiend  should  be 
removed  off  the  face  of  the  earth  by  the  survivor  of  t  hose 
unfortunates.  There  Avonld  be  a  little  poetic  justice  about 
that,  and  it’s  so  rare  in  the  world.  But  the  question  was, 
would  he  do  it?  The  little  man  was  a  wonderful  coward. 


JESS.  m 

tha,t  she  knew,  and  had  a  great  terror  of  Boers,  and  espe¬ 
cially  of  Frank  Muller. 

‘“Jantje,”  she  whispered,  putting  her  head  toward  the 
bee-hole. 

“Yes,  missie, ’’  answered  a  hoarse  voice  outside,  and 
next  second  his  monkey -like  face  came  creeping  into  the 
ring  of  light,  followed  by  his  even  more  monkey-like 
form. 

‘Sit  down  there,  Jan  tie.  I  am  lonely  here,  and  want  to 
talk.” 

He  obeyed  her  with  a  grin.  “What  shall  we  talk 
about,  missie.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  story  of  the  time  when 
the  beasts  used  to  speak  like  I  used  to  do  years  and  years 
ago?” 

“  No,  Jantje.  Tell  me  about  that  stick — that  long  stick 
with  a  knob  on  the  top,  and  the  nicks  cut  on  it.  Has  it 
not  something  to  do  with  Frank  Muller?” 

The  Hottentot’s  face  instantly  grew  evil.  “Yah,  yah, 
missie  !”  he  said,  reaching  out  a  skinny  claw  and  seizing 
the  stick.  “  Look,  that  big  notch,  that  is  my  father,  Baas 
Frank  shot  him;  and  that  next  notch,  that  is  my  mother. 
Baas  Frank  shot  her;  and  the  next  one,  that  is  my  uncle, 
an  old,  old  man.  Baas  Frank  shot  him  too.  And  these 
small  notches,  they  are  when  he  has  beaton  me — y^es,  and 
other  things  too.  And  now  I  will  make  more  notclies— 
one  for  the  house  that  is  burned,  and  one  for  the  old  Baas 
Croft,  my  own  Baas,  whom  he  is  going  to  shoot,  and  one 
for  Missie  Bessie.”  And  without  further  ado  he  drew  from 
his  side  a  very  large  white-handled  hunting-knife,  and  be¬ 
gan  to  cut  them  then  and  there  upon  the  hard  wood  of  the 
stick. 

Jess  knew  this  knife  of  old.  It  was  Jantje’s  peculiar 
treasure,  the  chief  joy^  of  his  narrow  little  heart.  He  had 
bought  it  from  a  Zulu  for  a  heifer  which  her  uncle  htid 
given  him  in  lieu  of  half  a  year’s  wage.  The  Zulu  had 
got  it  from  a  man  who  came  down  from  beyond  Delagoa 
Bay.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  a  Samali  knife,  manufac¬ 
tured  from  soft  native  steel  (which  takes  an  edge  like  a 
razor),  and  wdth  a  handle  cut  from  the  tusk  of  a  hippopot¬ 
amus.  For  the  rest,  it  was  about  a  foot  long,  with  three 
grooves  running  the  length  of  the  blade,  and  very  heavy. 

“Stop  cutting  notches,  Jantje,  and  let  me  look  at  that* 
knife.” 

He  obeyed,  and  put  it  into  her  hand. 

“That  knife  would  kill  a  man,  Jantje,”  she  said. 

“  Yes,  yes,”  he  answered;  “  no  doubt  it  has  killed  many 
men.” 

“It  would  kill  Frank  Muller,  now,  wc’ild  it  not?”  shfi 


S24 


JESS. 


said,  suddenly  bending  forward  and  fixing  her  dark  eyes 
upon  the  little  man’s  jaundiced  orbs. 

“Yah,  yah,”  he  said,  starting  back,  “it  would  kill  him 
dead.  Ah!  what  a  thing  it  would  be  to  kill  him,”  h© 
added,  with  a  fierce  half  sniggle,  half  laugh. 

“He  killed  your  father,  Jaiitje.” 

“Yah,  yah,  he  killed  my  father,”  said  Jantje,  his  eyae 
beginning  to  roll  with  rage. 

“  He  killed  your  mother.” 

“Yah,  he  killed  my  mother,”  he  repeated  after  her  with 
eager  ferocity. 

“And  your  uncle.  He  killed  your  uncle.” 

“And  my  uncle,  too,”  he  went  on,  shaking  his  fist  and 
twitching  his  long  toes  as  his  voice  rose  to  a  sort  of  sub¬ 
dued  scream.  “But  he  will  die  in  blood— the  old  English¬ 
woman,  his  mother,  said  it  when  the  devil  was  in  her,  and 
the  devils  never  lie.  Look!  I  draw  Baas  Frank’s  circle  in 
the  dust  with  my  toe.  and  listen,  I  say  the  words — I  say 
the  words.”  and  he  muttered  something  rapidly;  “an  old, 
old  witch-doctor  taught  me  how  to  do  it,  and  what  to  say. 
Once  before  I  did  it,  and  there  was  a  stone  in  the  way; 
now'  there  is  no  stone.  Look,  the  ends  meet.  He  will  die 
in  blood;  he  will  die  soon.  I  know  hoAV  to  read  the  cir¬ 
cle,”  and  he  gnashed  his  teeth  and  sawmd  the  air  with  his 
clinched  fists. 

“  Yes,  you  are  right,  Jantje,”  she  said,  still  holding  him 
with  her  dark  eyes.  “He  wull  die  in  blood,  and  he  shall 
die  to-night,  and  you  will  kill  him,  Jantje.” 

The  Hottentot  started,  and  turned  pale  under  his  yellow 
skin. 

“  How?”  he  said;  “how?” 

“Bend  forward,  Jantje,  and  I  will  tell  you  hovv;”  and 
she  whispered  for  some  minutes  into  his  ear. 

“Yes!  yes!  yes!”  he  said,  Avhen  she  had  done.  “Oh, 
what  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  be  clever,  like  the  white  people! 
I  wdll  kill  him  to-niglit,  and  tlien  I  can  cut  out  the  notches, 
and  the  ghosts  of  my  father  and  my  mother  and  my  uncle 
will  stop  howling  round  me  in  the  night,  as  they  do  now 
<vhe5.\  I  am  asleep.” 


CHAPTEE  XXXIII. 

VENGEANCE. 

For  three  or  four  minutes  more  they  whispered  to¬ 
gether-  after  which  the  Hottentot  rose  to  go  and  find  out 
out  how  things  were  among  the  Boers  below,  and  see  vrhen 
Frank  Muller  retii-ed  to  his  tent.  As  soon  as  he  had 
marked  him  doAvn  he  Avas  to  come  back  and  report  to  Jess, 
and  then  the  final  stens  were  to  be  danifiad  nn 


When  ho  was  gone  Jess  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  Tins 
fStirring  up  of  Jantje  to  the  boiling-point  of  vengeance  had 
been  a  dreadful  thing  to  nerve  herself  to  do;  but  now  at 
any  rate  it  was  done,  and  the  deed  settled  upon.  But 
what  rhe  end  of  it  would  be  none  could  say.  She  would 
pi’actically  be  a  mui’deress,  and  she  felt  sooner  or  later  her 
guilt  would  find  her  out,  and  then  she  would  have  little 
mercy  to  hope  for.  Still  she  had  no  scruples,  for  after  all 
Frank  Muller's  would  be  a  well-merited  doom.  But  when 
all  v/as  said  and  done  it  was  a  dreadful  tiling  to  be  forced 
to  steep ''her  hands  in  blood,  even  for  Bessie’s  sake.  If 
Muller  were  slain  Bessie  would  marry  John,  provided  John 
escaped  from  the  Boers,  and  be  happy;  but  what  would 
become  of  her?  Robbed  of  her  love,  and  vutli  this  crime 
upon  her  mind,  what  could  she  do,  even  if  she  escaped — 
except  die?  It  would  be  better  to  die  and  never  see  him 
again,  for  her  sorrow  and  her  shame  were  more  than  she 
could  bear.  And  then  she  began  to  think  of  John  till  all 
her  poor,  bruised  heart  seemed  to  go  out  toward  him. 
Bessie  could  never  love  him  as  she  did,  she  felt  sure  of 
that,  and  yet  Bessie  was  to  hav'e  him  by  her  all  her  life, 
and  she — she  was  to  go  av/ay.  Well,  it  was  the  only  thing 
to  do.  She  would  see  this  deed  done,  and  set  her  sister 
free,  and  then  if  she  happened  to  escape  she  would  go-go 
right  away,  w'here  she  would  never  be  heard  of  again. 

Then,  at  any  rate,  she  would  have  behaved  like  an  honor¬ 
able  woman.  She  sat  up  and  put  her  hands  to  her  face. 
It  was  burning  hot,  though  she  was  wet  through,  and 
chilled  to  the  1bone  with  the  raw  damp  of  the  night.  A 
fierce  fever  of  mind  and  body  had  taken  hold  of  her,  worn 
cut  as  she  was  with  emotion,  hunger,  and  protracted  ex¬ 
posure.  But  her  brain  was  clear  enough ;  she  never  re¬ 
membered  its  being  so  clear  before.  Every  thought  that 
came  into  her  mind  seemed  to  present  itself  with  startling 
vividness,  standing  out  by  itself  against  a  black  back¬ 
ground  of  nothingness,  not  softened  and  shaded  do^vn 
one  into  another  as  thoughts  generally  are.  She  seemed 
to  see  herself  wandering  away — alone,  utterly  alone,  aloiie 
forever '.—  while  in  the  far  distance  John  stood  holding 
Bessie  by  the  hand  and  gazing  after  her  regretfully.  Well, 
she  would  write  to  him,  since  it  must  be  so,  and  bid  him 
one  word  of  farewell.  She  could  not  go  without  it.  She 
had  a  pencil,  and  in  the  breast  of  her  dress  was  the  Boer 
pass,  the  back  of  which,  stained  as  it  was  with  water, 
would  sei've  the  purpose  of  paper.  She  drew  it  out  and, 
bending  forward  toward  the  light,  placed  it  on  her  knees. 

“Goodbye,”  she  wrote,  “good-b}^.  We  can  never 
meet  again,  and  it  is  better  that  we  never  should,  in  this 
wor’d  Whether  there  is  another  I  do  not  knew.  If 


V 


226  JESS. 

there  is,  I  shall  wait,  for  you  there.  If  not,  then  good-'bye 
forever.  Think  of  me  sometimes,  for  I  have  loved  you 
very  dearly,  and  as  nobody  will  ever  love  you  again;  and 
while  I  live  in  this  or  any  other  world,  and  am  myself,  I 
shall  always  love  you  and  you  only.  Don’t  forget  me. 
I  never  shall  be  really  dead  to  you  until  I  am  forgotten. 

“  J.” 

She  lifted  the  paper  off  her  knee  and  then  put  it  back 
again  and  began  to  scribble  in  verse  quickly  and  almost 
without  correction.  It  was  a  habit  of  hers,  though  she 
never  showed  what  she  wn'ote,  and  now  it  asserted  itself 
irresistibly  and  half  unconsciously ; 

“  Wben  bands  that  clasp  thine  own  in  seeming  truth. 

Or  linger  in  caress  upon  thy  head. 

Have  rudely  broke  the  idols  of  thy  youth 
And  cast  them  down  amid  thy  treasured  dead, 

Remember  me - ’’ 

When  she  had  got  thus  far  she  stopped,  dissatisfied,  and, 
running  her  pencil  through  the  lines,  began  afresh  t 

“  If  1  should  die  to-night, 

Then  would’ st  thou  look  upon  my  quiet  face,  . 

Before  they  laid  me  in  my  resting-place, 

And  deem  that  death  had  made  it  almost  fair; 

And,  laying  snow-white  flowers  against  my  hair, 

Would’st  on  my  cold  cheek  tender  kisses  press, 

And  fold  my  hands  with  lingering  caress. 

Poor  hands,  so  empty  and  so  cold  to-night! 

If  I  should  die  to-night. 

Then  would’st  thou  call  to  mind  with  loving  thought 
Some  kindly  deed  the  icy  hands  had  wrought, 

Some  tender  words  the  frozen  lips  had  said. 

Errands  on  which  the  willing  feet  had  sped: 

The  memory  of  my  passion  and  my  pride, 

And  every  fault  would  sure  be  set  aside. 

So  should  I  be  forgiven  of  all  to-night. 

**  Death  waits  on  me  to-night, 

E’en  now  my  summons  echoes  from  afar. 

And  grave  mists  gather  fast  about  my  star — 

Think  gently  of  me;  I  am  travel-worn. 

My  faltering  feet  are  pierced  with  many  a  thorn, 

The  bitter  world  has  made  rny  faint  heart  bleed. 

When  dreamless  rest  is  mine  I  shall  not  need 
The  tenderness  for  which  I  long  to-night!” 

Sbe  stopped,  apparently  more  because  she  had  got  to  the 
jend  of  the  paper  than  for  any  other  reason,  and  tvithout 
^en  rereading  whai  she  had  written,  pushed  the  pass  back 
into  her  bosom  attd  was  soon  lost  in  thought. 

Ten  minu^^jataiLj^ant.ie  came  creeping  in  to  whf  i  -  s!:© 


JESS. 


'221 


Bat  iiiie  a  great  snake  in  human  form,  his  3’ellow  face  shin¬ 
ing  with  the  rain-drops. 

“  Well,”  whispered  Jess,  looking  up  with  a  start,  ”  have 
you  done  it?” 

“No.  missie,  no.  Baas  Frank  has  hut  now  gone  to  his 
tent.  He  has  been  talking  to  the  clergyman,  something 
about  Missie  Bessie.  I  don’t  know  what.  I  was  near,  but 
he  talked  low  and  I  could  only  hear  the  name.  ’  ’ 

“  Have  the  Boers  all  gone  to  sleep?” 

“All,  missie,  except  the  sentries.” 

“  Is  there  a  sentry  before  Baas  Frank’s  tent?” 

‘‘No,  missie,  there  is  nobody  near.” 

‘‘  What  is  the  time,  Jantje?” 

‘‘About  three  hours  and  a  half  after  sundown”  (half- 
|Ki8t  ten). 

”  Let  us  wait' half  an  hour,  and  then  you  must  go.” 

Accordingly  they  sat  in  silence.  In  silence  they  sat  fac¬ 
ing  each  other  and  their  own  thoughts.  Presently  Jantje 
broke  it  by  drav/ing  the  big  white-handled  knife  and  com¬ 
mencing  to  sharpen  it  on  a  piece  of  leather. 

The  sight  made  Jess  feel  sick.  ‘‘  Put  the  knife  up,”  she 
said,  quickly,  “  it  is  sharp  enough.” 

Jantje  obeyed  with  a  feeble  grin,  and  the  minutes  passed 
on  heavily. 

“Now,  Jantje,”  she  said,  at  length,  speaking  huskily  in 
her  struggle  to  overcome  the  spasmodic  contractions  of 
her  throat,  “  it  is  time  for  you  to  go.  ’  ’ 

The  Hottentot  fidgeted  about,  and  at  last  spoke. 

“  Missie  must  come  with  me!” 

“Come  with  you!”  answered  Jess,  with  a  start; 
‘  why  ?’  ’ 

“Because  the  ghost  of  the  old  EngUsh woman  will  come 
after  me  if  I  go  alone.” 

“You  fool!”  said  Jess,  angrily,  and  then,  recollecting 
herself,  added,  “Come,  be  a  man,  Jantje;  think  of  your 
father  and  mother,  and  be  a  man.” 

“  I  am  a  man, ”  ho  answ’ered.  sulkily,  “and  I  will  kill 
him  like  a  man,  but  what  good  is  a  man  against  the  ghost 
of  a  dead  Englishwoman?  If  I  put  the  knife  into  her  she 
would  only  make  faces,  and  fire  would  come  out  of  the 
hole.  I  will  not  go  wuthout  you,  missie.” 

“  You  must  go,”  she  said,  fiercely;  “  you  shall  go!” 

“No,  missie,  I  will  not  go  alone,”  he  answered. 

Jess  looked  at  him  and  saw  that  he  meant  what  he  said. 
He  was  getting  sulky,  and  the  worst- dispositioned  donkey 
in  the  \vorld  is  far,  far  easier  to  deal  with  than  a  sulky 
Hottentot.  She  must  either  give  up  the  project  or  go 
with  .  lic  man.  Well,  she  was  equf’^ty  p-^ilty  one  way  or 
‘^by  ••.'■.her.  and  was  really  almost  a  -  'ibout  being  de- 


2S8 


V 


JESS. 


tected,  so  she  might  -iB  well  go.  She  had  no  power  left 
to  make  fresh  plans.  Her  mind  seemed  to  be  ei'diausted. 
Only  she  must  keep  out  of  the  way  at  the  last-  She  could 
not  bear  to  be  near  them. 

“  Well,”  she  said,  ”  I  will  go  with  you,  Jaiitje.,’ 

“Good,  missie,  that  is  all  right  now.  You  can  keep  off 
the  ghost  of  the  dead  Englishwoman  while  I  kill  Eaas 
Frank.  But  first  he  must  be  fast  asleep.  Fast,  fast 
asleep.” 

Then,  slowly  and  with  the  uttermost  caution,  they  once 
more  crept  down  the  hill.  This  lime  there  Avas  no  light  to 
be  seen  in  the  direction  of  the  Avagon-house.  and  no  sound 
to  be  heard,  except  tho  regular  tramp  of  the  sentries.  But 
their  business  did  not  lie  in  the  direction  of  the  wagon- 
house;  they  left  that  on  their  right,  and  curved  round 
toAvard  the  blue-gum  avenue.  When  they  got  nearly  op¬ 
posite  to  the  first  tree,  they  halted  in  a  patch  of  stones,  and 
Jantje  AA^ent  forward  to  reconnoiter.  Presently  he  re¬ 
turned  AAuth  the  intelligence  that  all  the  Boers  Avho  were 
with  the  AAuagon  had  gone  to  sleep,  but  that  Muller  Avas  still 
sitting  in  his  tent,  thinking.  Then  they  crept  on,  perfectly 
sure  that,  if  they  Avere  not  heard,  they  would  not  be  seen, 
curtained  as  they  Avere  by  the  dense  mist  and  darkness, 
-  till  at  length  they  reached  the  bole  of  the  first  big  gum- 
tree.  Five  paces  from  this  tree,  Frank  Muller’s  tent  Avas 
pitched.  It  had  a  light  in  it,  Avhich  caused  the  AA^et  tent  to 
gloAv  in  the  mist,  as  though  it  had  been  rubbed  Avith  phos¬ 
phorus,  and  on  this  lurid  cauA’-as  the  shadow  of  Frank 
Muller  Avas  gigantically  limned. 

He  Avas  so  placed  that  the  light  cast  a  magnified  reflec¬ 
tion  of  his  every  feature  and  even  of  his  expression  upon 
the  screen  before  them.  The  attitude  in  Avhich  he  Avas 
seated  Avas  his  favorite  one  when  he  was  plunged  in 
thought,  his  hands  resting  on  his  knees  and  his  gaze  fixed 
on  Amcancy.  He  Avas  thinking  of  his  triumph,  and  of  all 
that  he  had  gone  through  to  Avin  it,  and  of  all  that  it  would 
bring  him.  He  held  the  trump  cards  iioav,  and  the  game 
was  in  his  own  hand.  He  had  triumphed,  and  yet  over 
him  hung  the  shadoAv  of  that  curse  that  dogs  the  presence 
of  our  accomplished  desires.  Too  often,  even  Avith  the  in¬ 
nocent,  does  the  seed  of  our  destruction  lurk  in  the  rich 
blossom  of  oui-  hopes,  and  much  more  is  this  so  Avith  the 
g;;ilty.  SornehoAv  this  thought  Avas  present  in  his  mind  to¬ 
night,  and  in  a  rough,  half -educated  Avay  he  grasped  its 
rr  ith.  Once  more  the  saying  of  the  old  Boer  general  rose 
in  his  mind.  “I  believe  that  there  is  a  God— I  believe  that 
God  sets  a  limit  to  a  man’s  doings.  If  he  is  going  too  far. 
God  kills  him,” 

What  a  drefslfiil  thing^it  would  be  if  the  old  fogl  were 


p- 


JESS. 


229 


right  after  all !  Supposing  that  there  was  a  God.  and 
God  were  to  kill  him  to-night,  and  hurry  off  his  soul,  if  he 
had  one,  to  some  dim  place  of  unending  fear!  All  his  su- 

f)erstitions  awoke,  at  the  thought,  and  he  shivered  so  vio- 
ently  that  the  shadow  of  the  shiver  caused  the  outlines 
of  the  gigantic  form  upon  the  canvas  to  tremble  up  and 
down. 

Then,  rising  with  an  angry  curse,  he  hastily  threw  off 
his  outer  clothing,  and  having  turned  down  but  not  extin¬ 
guished  the  rough  parnfnne  lamp,  flung  himself  upon  the 
little  camp  bedstead,  whicli  creaked  and  groaned  beneath 
his  weight  like  a  thing  in  pain. 

Then  came  silence,  only  broken  by  the  drip,  drip,  of  the 
rain  from  the  gum  leaves  overhead  and  the  rattling  of  the 
boughs  whenever  a  breath  of  air  stirred  them.  It  was  an 
eerie  and  depressing  night — a  night  that  might  well  have 
tried  the  nerves  of  any  strong  man  who,  wet  through  and 
worn-out,  had  been  obliged  to  crouch  upon  the  open  and 
endure  it.  How  much  more  awful  was  it  then  to  the  un¬ 
fortunate  woman  who,  half-broken-hearted,  fever-stricken, 
and  well-nigh  crazed  with  suffering  of  mind  and  body, 
waited  in  it  to  see  murder  done!  Slowly  the  minutes 
passed,  and  at  every  rain-drop  or  rustle  of  a  bougli  her 
guilty  conscience  summoned  up  a  host  of  fears.  But  by 
the  mere  power  of  her  will  she  kept  them  down.  She 
would  go  through  with  it.  Yes,  she  would  go  through 
with  it.  Surely  he  must  be  asleep  by  now ! 

They  (;rept  up  to  the  tent  and  placed  their  ears  within 
two  inches  of  his  head.  Yes.  he  was  asleep;  the  sound 
of  his  breathing  rose  and  fell  with  the  regularity  of  an  in¬ 
fant’s. 

Jess  turned  round  and  touched  her  companion  upon  the 
shoulder.  He  did  not  move,  but  she  felt  that  his  arm  was 
shaking. 

“A^oiu,”  she  whispered. 

Still  he  hung  back.  It  was  eviaent  to  her  that  the  long 
waiting  had  taken  the  courage  out  of  him. 

“  Be  a  man,”  she  whispered  again,  so  low  that  the  sound 
scarcely  reached  his  ears  although  her  lips  were  almost 
touching  them,  ”  go,  and  mind  yoxi  strike  home!” 

Then  at  last  she  heard  him  softly  draw  the  gi-eat  knife 
from  the  sheath,  and  in  another  second  he  had  glided  from 
her.  side.  Presently  she  saw  the  line  of  light  that  cut  out 
upon  the  darkness  through  the  opening  of  the  tent  broaden 
a  little,  and  by  that  she  knew  that  he  was  creeping  in  upon 
his  dreadful  errand.  Then  she  turned  her  head  and  put 
.her  fingers  in  her  ears.  But  even  so  she  could  see  a  long 
line  of  shadow  traveling  across  the  skirt  of  the  tent.  Se 


880  JESS. 

she  shut  her  eyes  also,  and  waited,  sick  at  heart,  for  she 
did  not  dare  to  move. 

Presently — it  might  have  been  five  minutes  or  only  half 
•a  minute  afterward,  for  she  had  lost  count  of  time,  she  felt 
somebody  tout'h  her  on  the  arm..  It  was  Jantje. 

Is  it  doneV  she  whispered  again. 

He  shook  his  head  and  drew  her  away  from  the  tent. 
In  going  her  foot  caught  in  one  of  the  guide-ropes  and 
shook  it  slightly. 

“I  could  not  doit,  missie,  he  said.  He  is  asleep  and 
looks  just  like  a  child.  When  I  lifted  the  knife  he  smiled 
in  his  sleep,  and  all  the  strength  went  out  of  my  arm,  so 
that  I  could  not  strike.  And  tlien  before  I  could  get  strong 
again  the  ghost  of  the  old  Englishwoman  came  and  hit  me 
in  the  back,  and  I  ran  away.” 

If  a  look  could  have  blasted  a  man  Jantje  would  as- 
sui’edly  have  been  blasted  then.  The  man’s  cowardice 
made  her  mad,  but  while  she  still  choked  with  wrath  a 
duiker  buck,  which  had  come  down  from  its  stony  homo 
to  feed  upon  the  rose-bushes,  suddenly  sprang  with  a  crash 
almost  from  their  feet,  passing  away  like  a  gray  gleam  into 
the  utter  darkness. 

Jess  started  and  then  recovered  herself,  guessing  what 
it  was,  but  the  miserable  Hottentot  was  overcome  with 
terror,  and  fell  upon  the  ground  groaning  out  that  it  was 
the  ghost  of  the  old  Englishwoman.  He  had  dropped 
the  Imife  as  he  fell,  and  Jess,  seeing  the  imminent  peril 
in  h’ch  they  were  placed,  knelt  down,  picked  it  up,  and 
hissed  into  his  ear  that  if  he  were  not  quiet  she  would  kill 
him. 

This  pacified  him  a  little,  but  no  earthlj^  power  could 
persuade  him  to  enter  the  tent  again. 

What  was  to  be  done?  What  could  she  do?  For  two 
minutes  or  more  she  buried  her  face  in  her  wet  hands,  and 
thought  wildly  and  despairingly. 

Then  a  dark  and  dreadful  determination  entered  her 
mind.  The  man  Muller  should  not  escape.  Bessie  should 
not  be  sacrificed  to  him.  Rather  than  that,  she  would  do 
the  deed  herself. 

Without  a  word  she  rose,  animated  by  the  tragic  agony 
of  her  purpose  and  the  force  of  her  despair,  and  glided 
toward  the  tent,  the  great  knife  in  her  hand.  Now,  ah ! 
all  too  soon,  she  w,as  inside  of  it  nnd  stood  for  a  second  to 
allow  her  eyes  to  grow  accustomed  to  the  light.  Presently 
she  began  to  see,  first,  the  outline  of  the  bed,  then  the 
outline  of  the  manly  form,  stretched  upon  it,  then  both  bed 
and  man  distiiukly.  Jantje  had  said  that  he  was  sleeping 
like,  a  child.  He  might  have  been,  now  he  was  not.  Oa 
the  bis  face  was  convulsed  like  tlru,  of  one  in  an 


JESS. 


m 

extremity  of  lear,  and  great  beads  of  sweat  stood  npon 
h.’s  brow.  It  was  as  though  he  knew  his  danger,  and  was 
yet  niterly  powerless  to  avoid  it.  He  lay  upon  his  back. 
One  heavy  arm,  his  left,  hung  over  the  side  of  the  bed,  the 
knuckles  of  the  hand 'resting  on  the  ground;  the  other 
was  tlirown  back  and  his  head  was  pillowed  upon  it.  The 
clothing  had  fallen  back  from  his  throat  and  massive  chest, 
wliich  wmre  quite  bare. 

Jess  stood  and  gazed.  “For  Bessie’s  sake,  for  Bessie’s 
sake!”  she  murmured,  and  then,  impelled  by  a  force  that 
seemed  to  move  of  itself,  she  crept  slowly,  slowly,  to  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  bed. 

At  this  moment  the  man  woke,  and  his  opening  eyes 
fell  full  upon  her  face.  Whatever  his  dream  had  been, 
what  he  now  saw  was  far  more  terrible,  for  bending  over 
him  was  the  ghost  of  the  xvoman  he  had  mxirdered  in  the 
Vaal !  There  she  was.  risen  from  her  river  grave,  torn, 
disheveled,  water  yet  dripping  from  her  hands  and  hair. 
Those  sunk  and  marble  cheeks,  those  dreadful  flaming 
eyes  could  belong  to  no  human  being,  but  only  to  a  spirit. 
It  was  the  spirit  of  Jess  Croft,  the  woman  he  had  mur¬ 
dered,  come  back  to  tell  him  that  there  xcas  a  living  v^enge- 
ance  and  a  hell!  Their  eyes  met,  and  no  creature  will 
ever  know  the  agony  of  terror  that  he  tasted  of  before  the 
end  came.  She  saw  his  face  sink  in  and  turn  ashen  gray 
while  the  cold  sweat  ran  from  every  pore,  lie  was  awake, 
but  fear  paralyzed  him,  he  could  not  speak  or  move. 

He  was  awake,  and  she  could  hesitate  no  more. 

He  must  have  seen  the  flash  of  the  falling  steel,  and - 

She  was  outside  the  tent  again,  the  red  knife  in  her 
band.  She  flung  the  accursed  thing  from  her.  That  shriek 
must  have  awakened  every  soul  within  a  mile.  Already 
she  could  faintly  hear  the  stir  of  men  down  by  the  wagon 
and  the  patter  of  Jantje  running  for  his  life. 

Then  she  too  turned  and  fled  straight  up  the  hill.  She 
.knew  not  whither,  she  cared  not  where!  Hone  saw  her 
or  followed  her,  the  hunt  had  broken  away  to  the  left 
after  Jantje.  Her  heart  was  lead  and  her  brain  a  rocldng 
sea  of  fire,  while  before  her,  around  her,  and  behind  her 
veiled  all  the  conscience-created  furies  that  run  murder  to 
liis  lair. 

On  she  flew,  one  sight  only  before  her  eyes,  one  sound 
only  in  her  ears.  On  over  the  liill,  far  into  the  rain  and 
kiight. 


JESS. 


CHAPTER  XXXIT. 

•::i.lN"TA  COETZEE  TO  THE  RESCUE 


Aeter.  Jess  had  been  set  free  by  the  Boers  outside  iSoiins 
Coetzee's  place,  John  was  sharply  ordered  to  dismount 
and  offsaddle  liis  horse.  This  he  did  with  tlie  best  grac« 
that  he  could  muster,  and  the  horse  was  knee- haltered  and 
let  loose  to  feed.  It  was  then  indicated  to  him  tiiat  he 
was  to  enter  the  house,  which  he  also  did,  closely  attended 
by  two  of  the  Boers.  '  The  room  into  which  he  was  con¬ 
ducted  v/as  the  same  that  he  had  first  become  acquainted 
with  on  the  occasion  of  the  buck  hunt  that  had  so  nearly 
endc'd  in  his  extinction.  •  There  was  the  Buckenhbut  table, 
and  there  were  the  chairs  and  couches  made  of  stinkwood. 
Also,  in  the  biggest  chair  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  a 
moderate  sized  slop-basin  full  of  coffee  by  her  side,  sat 
Tanta  Coetzee.  still  actively  employed  in  doing  absolutely 
nothing.  Thei'e,  too,  were  the  showily  dressed  young 
women;  there  was  the  sardonic  lover  of  one  of  them,  and 
Ell  the  posse  of  young  men  with  rifles. 

The  whole  place  and  its  characteristics  were  quite  un¬ 
changed,  and  on  entering  it  John  felt  inclined  to  rub  his 
-yes  and  wonder  Avhether  tlie  events  of  the  last  few  months 
oad  been  nothing  but  a  dream.  The  only  thing  that  was 
lift’erent  was  the  welcome  that  he  received.  Evidently  he 
vvas  not  expected  to  shake  hands  all  round  on  the  present 
occasion.  Fallen  indeed  wovdd  the  Boer  have  been  con- 
.sidered  who,  within  a  few  days  of  Majuba,  offered  to  shake 
hands  with  a  wretched  English  rooibaatje,  picked  up  like 
a  lame  buck  on  the  A'eldt.  At  the  least  he  would  have 
kept  the  ceremony  for  private  celebration,  if  only  out  of 
respect  to  the  feelings  of  others.  On  this  occasion  John’s 
entry  was  received  in  icy  silence.  The  old  woman  did  not 
deign  to  look  up,  the  young  ones  shrugged  their  shoulders 
and  turned  their  backs,  as  though  they  had  suddenly  seen 
something  that  was  not  nice.  Only  the  countenance  of  the 
sardonic  lover  softened  to  a  grin. 

John  walked  to  the  end  of  the  room  Avhere  there  was  a 
vacant  chair  and  stood  by  it. 

“  Have  I  your  permission  to  sit  down,  ma’am?”  he  said 
at  last,  in  a  loud  tone,  addressing  the  old  lady. 

‘  ‘  Dear  Lord !’  ’  said  the  old  lady  to  the  man  next  to  her, 
“  what  a  voice  the  poor  creature  has;  it  is  like  a  bull’s. 
What  does  he  say  ?'  ’ 

The  man  explained. 

”  The  floor  is  the  right  place  for  Englishmen  and  Kafirs, ' ' 
said  the  old  lady,  ‘‘but,  after  all,  he  is  a  man,  nud  perhaps 
sore  vitl  iding.  Englishmen  always  get  >  "  ^len  they 


JESK  '  233 

try  to  ride;”  and  then  with  startling  energy  she  shouted 
out; 

"  Sit !  I  will  sliow  the  rooibaatje  he  is  not  the  only  one 
with  a  voice,”  she  added,  by  way  of  explanation. 

A  subdued  sniggle  followed  this  sally  of  wit,  during 
which  John  took  his  seat  with  all  the  native  grace  that  he 
could  command,  which  at  the  moment  was  not  much. 

”  Dear  me!”  she  went  on,  presently,  for  she  was  a  bit  of 
a  humorist,  ”  he  looks  very  dirty  and  pale,  doesn’t  he?  I 
suppose  the  poor  thing  has  been  hiding  in  the  ant-bear  holes 
with  nothing  to  eat.  I  am  told  that  up  in  the  Drakensberg 
Yonder  the  ant-bear  holes  are  full  of  Englishmen.  They 
had  rather  starve  in  them  than  come  out,  for  fear  lest  they 
should  meet  a  Boer.” 

This  provoked  another  sniggle,  and  then  the  young 
ladies  took  up  the  ball. 

”  Are  you  hungry,  rooibaatje?”  asked  one  in  English. 

John  was  boiling  with  fury,  but  he  was  also  starving,  so 
he  answered  that  he  was. 

.  “Tie  his  hands  behind  him,  and  let  us  see  if  he  can 
C/atch  in  his  mouth,  like  a  dog,  ”  suggested  one  of  the  gentle 
youths. 

“  No,  no;  make  him  eat  pap  with  a  wooden  spoon,  like  a 
Kafir,”  said  another.  “  I  will  feed  him  if  you  have  a  very 
long  spoon.” 

Here  again  was  legitimate  cause  for  merriment,  but  in 
the  end  matters  were  compromised  by  a  lump  of  biltong 
and  a  piece  of  bread  being  thrown  to  him  from  the  other 
end  of  the  room.  He  caught  them  and  proceeded  to  eat, 
trying  to  conceal  his  ravenous  hunger  as  much  as  possible 
from  the  circle  of  onlookers  who  clustered  round  to  watch 
the  operation. 

“  Carolus.”  said  the  old  lady  to  the  sardonic  affianced  of 
her  daughter,  “there  are  three  thousand  men  in  the  British 
army.” 

“  Yes,  my  aunt.” 

“There  are  three  thousand  men  in  the  British  army,” 
she  repeated,  looking  round  angrily  as  though  somebody 
had  questioned  the  trutli  of  her  statement.  “  I  tell  you  that 
my  grandfather’s  brother  was  at  Cape  Town  in  the  time  of 
Governor  Smith,  and  he  counted  the  whole  Britis.t  army, 
and  there  were  three  thousand  of  them.” 

“  That  is  so,  my  aunt,”  answered  Carolus. 

“Then  why  did  you  contradict  me,  Carolus?” 

‘  ‘  I  did  not  intend  to,  my  aunt.  ’  ’ 

“  I  should  hope  not,  Carolus;  it  would  vex  the  ■:  ,r  Lord 
to  see  a  boy  with  a  squint  ”  (Carolus  was  sligbJ  •ffiicted 
in  that  way)  “contradict  his  future  mother- i  .  Tell 

Mae  how  .manv  Enerlislimen  ^mre  killed  at  Lane  k?” 


JESS. 


'‘Nine  luindi-ed.”  replied  Carolus,  prornpUj'. 

“  AaU  at  Ing'ogo?” 

“  Six  hundred  and  twentj'.” 

“  And  at  Majuba?” 

“One  tliousarid.” 

Then  that  makes  two  thousand  five  hundred  inen,  yes^ 
and  the  rest  were  finished  at  Bronker’s  Spruit.  Nephews, 
that  rooibaatje  there,”  pointing  to  John,  “is  one  of  the  la:-^ 
men  left  in  the  British  army.” 

Most  of  her  audience  appeared  to  accept  this  argument 
as  conclusive,  but  some  mischievous  spirit  put  it  into  the 
breast  of  the  saturnine  Carolus  to  contradict  her,  notwith¬ 
standing  the  le^sson  he  had  just  had. 

‘■That  is  not  so.  my  aunt;  there  are  many  d - d  En¬ 

glishmen  still  sneaking  about  the  Nek,  and  also  at  Pretoria 
and  Wakkerstroom.” 

■‘I  tell  you  it  is  a  lie,”  said  the  old  lady,  raising  her 
voice,  “they  are  only  Kafii-s  and  camp  followers.  There 
were  three  "thousand  men  in  the  British  army,  and  now 
they  are  all  killed  except  that  rooibaatje.  How  dare  you 
contradict  your  future  mother-in-law,  you  dirty,  squint- 
eyed,  yellow-faced  monkey!  There,  take  that!”  and  be¬ 
fore  the  unfortunate  Carolus  knew  where  he  was,  he  re¬ 
ceived  the  slop-basin  with  its  contents  full  in  the  face. 
The  bowl  broke  upon  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  and  the  coffee 
flew  all  over  him,  into  his  eyes  and  hair,  down  his  throat 
and  over  his  body,  making  such  a  spectacle  of  him  as 
must  have  been  seen  to  be  appreciated. 

“Ah!”  went  on  the  old  lady,  much  soothed  and  grati¬ 
fied  by  the  eminent  and  startling  success  of  her  shot, 
“never  you  tell  me  again  I  don’t  know  howto  throw  a 
basin  of  coffee.  I  haven’t  practiced  at  my  man  Hans  for 
thirty  years  for  nothing,  I  can  tell  you.  Now  you,  Caro¬ 
lus,  i  have  taught  you  not  to  contradict;  go  and  wash 
your  face  and  we  will  liave  supper.” 

Carolus  ventured  no  reply,  and  was  led  away  by  his  be¬ 
trothed  half  blinded  and  utterfy  subdued,  while  her  sister 
Bet  the  table  for  the  evening  meal.  When  it  was  ready 
the  men  sat  down  to  meat  and  the  women  waited  on  them. 
John  was  not  asked  to  sit  down,  but  one  of  the  girls 
threw  him  a  boiled  mealiecob,  for  which,  being  still  very 
hungry,  he  was  duly  grateful,  and  afterward  he  managed 
to  get  a  mutton -bone  arid  another  bifc  of  bread. 

When  supper  was  over,  some  bottles  of  peach  braiidy 
were  produced,  and  the  men  began  to  dripk  freely,  and 
then  it  was  that  matters  commenced  to  get  dangerous  for 
John,  Suddenly  one  of  the  men  remembered  .about  the 
young  fellow  wliom  he  had  thrown  backward  otf  the 
Dorse,  and  who  was  lying  very  sick  in  the  lU'xt  room,  and 


JESS. 


235 


eiiggesred  thKt  measures  of  reialiation  should  be  taken, 
(vhich  would  undoubtedly  have  been  done  had  not  the 
elderly  Boer  avIio  had  commanded  the  party  interposed. 
This  man  was  gettii>g’  drunk,  like  the  others,  but  fortu¬ 
nately  for  John  lie  got  amiably  drunk. 

"  Let  him  alone,”  he  said,  ”let  him  alone.  Wo  will  send 
him  to  the  commandant  to-morrow.  Frank  Muller  will 
know  how  to  deal  with  him.” 

John  thought  to  himself  that  he  certainly  would. 

“Now,  for  myself,”  the  man  went  on  with  a  hiccough, 
“I  bear  no  malice.  We  have  thrashed  the  British  and 
they  have  given  up  the  country,  so  let  bygones  be  bygones, 
I  say.  Almighty,  yes!  I  am  not  proud,  not  I.  If  an  En¬ 
glishman  takes  off  his  hat  to  me  I  shall  acknowledge  it.” 

This  staved  the  fellow-s  off  for  awhile,  but  presently 
John’s  protector  went  away,  and  then  the  others  began  to 
get  play f til.  They  got  their  rifles  and  amused  themselves 
with  leveling  them  at  him,  and  making  sham  bets  as  to 
where  they  would  hit  him.  John,  seeing  the  emergency, 
backed  his  chair  well  into  the  corimr  of  the  wall  and  drew 
bis  revolver,  which  fortunately  for  himself  he  still  had. 

“If  any  man  interferes  with  me,  by  God,  I’ll  shoot 
him!”  he  said,  in  good  English,  which  they  did  not  fail  to 
understand.  Undoubtedly  as  the  evening  went  on  it  was 
only  the  possession  of  this  revolver  and  his  evident  deter¬ 
mination  to  use  it  that  saved  his  life. 

At  last  things  got  very  bad  indeed,  so  bad  that  he  found 
it  absolutely  necessary  to  keep  his  eyes  continually  fixed, 
now  on  one  and  now  on  another,  to  prevent  their  putting 
a  bullet  through  him  unawares.  He  had  twice  appealed  to 
the  old  woman,  but  she  sat  in  her  big  chair  with  a  sweet 
smile  upon  her  fat  face  and  refused  to  interfere.  It  is  not 
every  day  that  one  gets  the  chance  of  seeing  a  real  live 
English  rooibaatje  baited  like  an  ant-bear  on  the  flat. 

Presently,  just  as  John  in  desperation  was  making  up 
his  mind  to  begin  shooting  right  and  left,  and  take  his 
chance  of  cutting  his  way  out,  the  saturnine  Carolus,  whose 
temper  had  never  recovered  the  bowl  of  coffee,  and  who 
was  besides  very  drunk,  rushed  forward  with  an  oath  and 
dealt  a  tremendous  blow  at  him  with  the  butt  end  of  his 
rifle.  John  dodged  the  blow,  which  fell  upon  the  back 
of  the  chair  and  smashed  it  to  bits,  and  in  another  second 
Carolus’  gentle  soul  would  have  de})arted  to  a  better  sphere, 
had  not  the  old  woman,  seeing  that  matters  were  getting 
beyond  a  joke,  come  Avaddling  down  the  room  with  mar 
velous  activity  and  thrown  herself  between  them. 

“There,  there,”  she  said,  cuffing  right  and  left  with 
her  fat  fists,  “be  off  with  you,  every  one.  1  can't  have 
N^is  noise  going  on  here.  Come,  off  you  ah  go,  and  get 


fche  horses  into  the  staBleT  he  right  away 

morning  if  you  trust  them  to  the  Kafirs.” 

Carolus  collapsed,  and  the  other  men,  too,  hesitated  and 
drew  back,  whereupon,  following  up  her  advantage,  the 
woman,  to  John’s  astonishment  and  relief,  literally  bun¬ 
dled  the  whole  tribe  of  them  out  of  the  front  door. 

“Now  then,  rooibaatje,  ”  said  the  old  lady,  briskly,  when 
they  liad  gone,  “  I  like  you  because  you  are  a  brave  man, 
and  were  not  afraid  when  they  mobbed  you.  Also,  I  don’t 
want  to  have  a  mess  made  upon  my  fioor  here,  or  any  noise 
or  shooting.  If  those  men  come  back  and  find  you  here 
they  will  first  get  rather  drunker  and  then  kill  you,  so  you 
had  better  be  off  while  you  get  the  chance,  ”  and  she  pointed 
to  the  door. 

“  I  really  am  much  obliged  to  you,  my  aunt,”  said  John, 
utterly  astonished  to  find  that  she  possessed  a  heart  at 
all,  and  had  more  or  less  been  playing  a  part  all  the  even¬ 
ing. 

“  Oh,  as  to  that,”  she  said  dryly,  “  it  would  be  a  great 
pity  to  kill  the  last  English  rooibaatje  in  the  whole  Brit¬ 
ish  army;  they  might  to  keep  you  as  a  curiosity.  Here, 
take  a  tot  of  brandy  before  you  go,  it  is  a  wet  night,  and 
sometimes  when  you  are  clear  of  the  Transvaal  and  remem- 
□er  this  business,  remember,  too,  that  you  owe  your  life 
to  Tanta  Coetzee.  But  I  would  not  have  saved  you,  not 
I,  if  you  had  not  been  so  plucky.  I  like  a  man  to  be  a 
man,  and  not  like  that  miserable  monkey,  Carolus.  There, 
oeoff!” 

John  poured  out  and  gulped  doAvn  half  a  tumblerful  of 
the  brandy,  and  in  another  moment  was  outside  the  house 
and  had  slipped  off  into  the  night.  It  was  very  dark  and 
wet,  for  the  rain-clouds  had  covered  up  the  moon,  and  he 
soon  realized  that  any  attempt  to  look  for  his  horse  Avould 
only  end  in  failure  and  in  his  recapture  also.  The  only 
thing  to  do  was  to  get  away  on  foot  in  the  dii’ection  of 
Mooifontein  as  quickly  as  he  could;  so  off  he  went  down 
the  track  across  the  veldt  as  hard  as  his  stiff  legs  would 
take  him.  He  had  a  ten  miles’  trudge  before  him,  and 
with  that  cheerful  acquiescence  in  circumstances  over 
which  he  had  no  control  which  was  one  of  his  character¬ 
istics,  he  set  to  work  to  make  the  best  of  it.  For  the  first 
hour  or  so  all  wejit  well,  and  then  to  his  intense  disgust 
he  discovered  that  he  was  off  the  track,  a  fact  at  which 
anybody  who  has  ever  had  the  pleasure  on  a  dark  night 
of  wandering  along  a  so-called  road  on  the  African  veldt 
will  scarcely  be  surprised.  After  wasting  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  or  more  in  a  vain  attempt  to  find  the  path,  he  struck 
out  boldly  for  a  dark-looking  mass  that  loomed  in  the  dis- 
tanef  and  wbieb  he  took  to  be  Mooifontein  •  -  L  And  so 


JES3. 


231 


....J 


it  was,  only  instead  of  keeping  to  the  left,  when  he  M’^culd 
have  lantled  up  at  the  house,  or  rather  where  the  house 
had  stood,  he  unwittingly  bore  to  the  right,  ami  thus  went 
half  round  the  lull  before  he  found  out  his  mistake.  Nor 
would  he  have  found  it  out  then  had  he  not  chanced  in  the 
mist  and  darkness  to  turn  into  the  mouth  of  the  great 
goj-ge  known  as  L'-uw  Kloof,  where  he  had  once,  months 
before,  had  an  interesting  talk  with  Jess  just  before  she 
went  to  Pretoria. 

It  was  while  he  was  blundering  and  stumbling  up  this 
gorge  that  at  length  the  rain  ceased  and  the  moon  got  out, 
it  being  then  nearly  midnight.  Its  very  first  rays  lit  upon 
one  of  the  extraordinary  pillars  of  balanced  bowlders,  and 
by  it  he  recognized  the  locality.  As  may  be  imagined, 
strong  man  as  he  Avas,  John  was  by  this  time  quite  ex¬ 
hausted.  For  nearly  a  week  he  had  been  traveling  inces¬ 
santly,  and  for  the  last  two  nights  he  had  not  only  not 
slept,  but  had  endured  a  great  deal  of  peril  and  mental  ex¬ 
citement.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  brandy  Tanta  Coetzee 
had  given  him  he  could  not  have  got  over  the  fifteen  miles 
or  so  of  ground  he  had  covered,  and  now  he  was  quite 
broken  down,  and  felt  that  the  only  thiiig  that  he  could  do, 
wet  through  as  he  was,  would  be  to  lie  down  somewhere 
Rjul  sleep  or  die  as  the  case  might  be.  Then  it  was  that  the 
little  cave  near  the  to])  of  the  Kloof,  the  same  from  which 
Jess  had  watched  the  thunderstorm,  came  into  his  recollec¬ 
tion.  He  had  been  there?  once  with  Bessie  after  their  en¬ 
gagement,  and  she  had  told  him  that  it  was  one  of  Jess’ 
favorite  spots. 

if  he  could  once  reach  the  cave  he  would  at  any  rate 
get  shelter  and  a  dry  place  to  lie  on.  It  could  not  be  more 
than  three  hundred  yards  away.  So  he  struggled  on 
bravely  through  the  wet  grass  and  over  the  scattered  bowl¬ 
ders,  until  at  last  he  came  to  the  base  of  the  huge  column 
that  had  been  shattered  by  the  lightning  before  Jess’  eyes. 

Thirty  jDaces  more  and  he  was  in  the  cave. 

With  a  sigh  of  utter  exhaustion,  he  flung  himself  down 
upon  the  rocky  floor,  and  was  almost  instantly  buried  in  a 
profound  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  CONCLUSION  OP  THE  MATTER. 

‘When  the  rain  ceased  and  the  moon  began  to  shine,  Jess 
was  Slid  fleeing  like  a  wild  thing  across  the  plain  on  the 
top  ul  e  mountain.  She  felt  no  sense  of  exhaustion  now, 
or  0'  “  f  weariness;  her  only  idea  was  to  get  away,  right 
S.W  ewhere,  where  she  could  lose  herself,  and  ..cbody 

w.  er  see  her  again.  Presentlv.  she  came  b 


JESS. 


ns 

ei‘  Leiiw  Eloof,  and,  in  a  bev;ildcx'cd  war,  rcrognii.t^;  thfe 
spot,  and  •  coiniiieiiced  to  descend  i-t.  Here  was  a  jcaoe 
’vvlioro  she  might  lie  until  she  died,  for  no  one  evn-  c-mie 
there,  except,  now  and  again,  some  wandering  Kafir  iierd. 
On  she  sprung,  from  rock  to  rock,  a  wild,  weird  ligure, 
well  in  keeping  with  the  solemn  and  titanic  sadness  of  the 
place. 

Twice  she  fell,  once  right  into  the  stream,  but  she 
took  no  heed,  slie  did  not  even  seem  to  feel  it.  At  last  she 
was  at  the  bottom,  now  creeping  like  a  black  dot  across 
the  wide  spaces  of  moonlight  and  now  swallowed  up  in. 
the  shadow.  There  before  her  was  the  mouth  of  her 
little  cave ;  her  strength  was  leaving  her  at  last,  and  she 
wos  fain  to  creep  into  it,  broken-hearted,  crazed,  and— - 
dying. 

Oh,  God.  fdrgive  me!  God  forgive  me!”  she  moaned, 
as  she  sank  upon  the  rocky  floor.  “Bessie,  I  sinned 
against  you,  but  I  have  washed  away  my  sin.  I  did  it 
for  you,  Bessie,  love,  not  for  myself.  I  had  rather  have 
died  than  kill  him  for  myself.  You  will  marry  John 
now,  and  you  will  never,  never  know  what  I  did  fot  you. 
I  am  going  to  die.  I  know  that.  I  am  dying.  Oh.  if 
only  I  could  see  his  face  once  more  before  I  die — before  I 
die!” 

Slowly  the  westering  moonlight  crept  down  the  black¬ 
ness  of  the  rock.  Now  at  last  it  peeped  into  the  little  cave 
and  played  upon  John’s  sleeping  face  lying  within  two  feet 
of  Ixer.  Her  prayer  had  been  granted;  there  was  her  lover 
by  her  side. 

With  a  stax't  and  a  great  sigh  of  doubt  she  saw  him. 
Was  he  dead?  She  dragged  herself  to  him  on  her  hands 
and  knees,  and  listened  for  his  breathing,  if  perchance  he 
still  breathed,  and  was  not  a  vision.  Then  it  came,  strong 
and  slow— the  breath  of  a  man  in  a  deep  sleep. 

Should  she  try  to  wake  him?  What  for?  To  tell  him 
she  was  a  murderess  and  then  to  let  him  see  her  die,  for 
in.stinct  told  her  that  nature  was  exhausted ;  and  she  Itiiow 
that  she  was  certainly  going — going  fast.  No;  a  hundred 
times,  no! 

Only  she  put  her  hand  into  her  treast  and  drew  out  the 
pass  on  the  back  of  which  she  had  written  to  him,  and 
thrust  it  between  his  listless  fingers.  It  should  speak  for 
her.  Then  she  leaned  over  him,  and  watched  his  sleejnug 
face,  a  very  incarnation  of  infinite,  despairing  tenderness 
and  love  that  is  deeper  than  the  grave.  And  as  s’ne 
watched,  gradually  her  feet  and  legs  grew  cold  and  numb, 
till  at  length  .she  could  feel  nothing  below  her  bosom.  She 
was  dead  nearly  to  the  heart. 

The  rays  of  the  moon  faded  slowly  from  the  leA^sl  or 


JESS.  ‘;US# 

I'itH''-  on'.'o,  and  John’s  fnoe  grcvV  dark  to  hor  darkening 
siK  ’".  h'he  bent  down  and  kisised  him  ®r.ce,  i  wu'o,  liirice. 

(-on  at  last  the  end  came.  There  was  a^p’eat  liasiungof 
/igiu.  before  her  eyes  and  the  roaring  as  of  a, thousand  seas 
wiiliiu  her  ears,  and  her  head  sunk  gently  on  her  lover’s 
breast  as  on  a  pillow;  and  there  she  died  and  passed  up¬ 
ward  toward  the  wider  life  and  larger  liberty,  or  per- 
chaiice  downward  into  the  depths  of  an  eternal  sleep. 

Poor  dark-eyed,  deep  hearted  Jess!  This  was  the  frui¬ 
tion  of  her  love,  and  this  her  bridal-bed. 

It  was  done.  She  Avas  gone,  taking  with  her  the  secret 
of  her  self-sacrifice  and  crime;  and  the  night  winds  moan¬ 
ing  amid  the  rocks  sang  their  requiem  over  her.  Here  she 
first  had  learned  her  love,  and  here  she  closed  its  book. 

She  might  have  been  a  great  and  good  woman.  She 
might  even  have  been  a  happy  woman.  But  fate  had 
ordained  it  otherwise.  Women  such  as  she  are  rarely 
happy  in  the  world.  It  is  not  well  to  stake  all  one’s  fort¬ 
une  on  a  throw,  and  lack  the  craft  to  load  the  dice.  Well, 
her  ti'oubles  are  done  with.  “  Think  gently  of  her,”  and 
let  her  pass  in  peace. 

The  hours  grew  on  toward  the  morning,  but  John,  the 
dead  face  of  the  woman  he  had  loved  still  pillowed  on  his 
brea  k,  neither  dreamed  nor  woke.  There  was  a  stiange 
and  dreadful  irony  in  the  situation,  and  one  which  some¬ 
times  finds  a  counterpart  in  our  waking  life,  but  still  the 
man  slept,  and  the  dead  woman  lay  till  the  night  turned 
into  the  morning  and  the  world  woke  up  as  usual.  Tiio 
sunbeams  slid  into  the  cave,  and  played  indifferently  upon 
the  asiien  face  and  tangled  curls,  and  on  the  broad  chest 
of  the  living  man  whereon  they  rested.  An  old  baboon 
peeped  round  the  rocky  edge,  and  manifested  no  surprise, 
only  indignation,  at  the  intrusion  of  humanity,  dead  or 
alive,  into  his  dominions.  Yes,  the  Avoidd  woke  up  as 
usual,  and  recked  not  and  troubled  not  because  Jess  was 
dead. 

It  was  so  accustomed  to  such  sights. 

And  at  last  John  woke  up  too.  He  stretched  his,  arms 
and  yawned,  and  then  for  the  first  time  became  awaare  of 
tlfti  weight  upon  his  breast.  He  glanced  down  and  saw 
dimly  at  fii-st— then  more  clearly. 

tjs  iic  Se  Jc 

There  are  some  things  into  which  it  is  Avi.se.st  not  ':a 
pry,  and  one  of  them  is  the  first  agony  of  a  strong  man’s 
grief. 

Hoppy  Avas  it  for  him  that  his  brain  did  not  give  way  in 
tli&i  lirat  lonely  hour  of  bottomless  despair.  But  he  lived 
thro  It.  .li  it,  as  we  do  live  through  such  things,  and  was 


»4U  JESS. 

Sane  and  sound  after  it,  though  it  left  its  mark  upon  hig 
life. 

Two  hoiir-s  later  a  gaunt,  haggard  figure  came  stum' 
Oling  down  the  hillside  toward  the  site  of  Mooifontein, 
bearing  somtething  in  his  arms.  The  Avhole  place  was  in 
commotion.  Here  and  there  were  knots  of  Boers  talking 
excitedly,  who,  when  they  saw  the  man  coming,  hurried 
up  to  see  who  it  was  and  what  he  carried.  But  when  they 
knew,  they  fell  back  awed  and  without  a  word,  and  he  too 
passed  through  them  without  a  word.  For  a  moment  he 
hesitated,  realizing  that  the  house  was  burned  down,  and 
then  turned  into  the  wagon-shed,  and  laid  his  burden  down 
upon  the  saw-bench  upon  which  Frank  Muller  had  sat  as 
Judge  upon  the  pi’evious  day. 

Then  at  last  he  spoke  in  a  hoarse  voice,  ‘  ‘  Where  is  the 
old  man?”  One  of  them  pointed  to  the  door  of  the  little 
room. 

‘‘  Open  it!”  he  said,  so  fiercely  that  they  again  fell  back 
and  obeyed  him  without  a  Avord. 

‘‘John!  John!”  cried  Silas  Croft.  ‘‘Thank  God  you 
have  come  back  to  us  from  the  dead!”  and,  trembling 
with  joy  and  surprise,  he  would  have  fallen  upon  his 
neck. 

‘‘Hush!”  he  answered;  ‘‘  I  have  brought  the  dead  with 
me.” 

And  he  led  him  to  where  she  lay. 

♦  sk  %  %  5t£ 

During  the  day  the  Boers  all  Avent  and  left  them  alone. 
Now  that  Frank  Muller  was  dead  there  was  no  thought 
among  them  of  carrying  out  the  sentence  upon  their  old 
neighbor.  Besides,  there  was  no  warrant  for  the  execu¬ 
tion.  eAmn  had  they  desired  so  to  do,  for  their  command¬ 
ant  had  died  leaving  it  unsigned.  So  they  held  a  sort  of 
informal  inquest  upon  their  leader’s  body,  aiid  then  buried 
him  in  the  little  graveyard  that  Avas  planted  Avith  the  four 
red  gums  one  at  each  corner,  and  Availed  in  on  the  hillside 
at  the  back  of  where  the  house  had  stood.  Rather  than  be 
at  the  pains  of  hollowing  out  another,  they  buried  him  in 
the  A'ery  grave  that  he  had  caused  to  be  ciug  to  receive  the 
body  of  Silas  Croft.  ‘ 

Who  had  murdered  Frank  Muller  was  arid  remains  a 
mystery  among  them  to  this  day.  The  knife  was  identi¬ 
fied  by  the  natives  about  the  farm  as  belonging  to  the  Hot¬ 
tentot  Jantje.  and  a  Hottentot  was  seen  running  fi’om  the 

glace  of  the  deed  and  hunted  for  some  way,  but  could  not 
e  caught  or  heard  of  again.  Therefore  many  of  them  are 
of  the  opinion  that  he  is  the  guilty  man.  Others,  again, 
believe  that  the  crime  rests  upon  t.he  shoulders  of  the  \  il 
lainous  one-eyed  Kafir,  Hendrik,  hisoAvn  servant,  who  ha.d 


JESS, 


S4t 


mysteriously  vanished.  But  as  they  have  never  found 
eiiher  of  them,  and  are  not  likely  to.  the  point  remains  a 
moot  one.  Nor,  indeed,  did  they  take  any  great  pains  to 
hunt  for  them.  Frank  Muller  was  not  a  popular  character, 
and  the  fact  of  a  man  coming  to  a  mysterious  end  does  not 
produce  any  great  sensation  among  a  rough  people  and  in 
rough  times. 

On  the  following  day  old  Silas  Croft,  Bessie,  and  John 
Kiel  also  buried  their  dead  in  the  little  gi’aveyard  on  the 
hillside,  and  there  she  lies,  some  ten  feet  of  earth  only  be¬ 
tween  her  and  the  man  on  whom  she  was  the  instrument 
of  vengeance.  But  they  never  knew  that,  or  even  guessed 
it.  They  never  even  knew  that  she  had  been  near  Mooi- 
fontein  on  that  awful  night.  Nobody  knew  it  except 
Jantje,  and  Jantje,  haunted  by  the  footfall  of  the  pursuing 
Boers,  was  gone  from  the  ken  of  the  white  man  far  into 
the  wilds  of  Central  Africa. 

'■John,”  said  the  old  man,  when  they  had  filled  in  the 
grave,  “this  is  no  country  for  Englishmen.  Let  us  go 
home  to  England.”  John  bowed  his  head  in  assent. 
Fortunately  the  means  were  iiot  wanting,  although  they 
ivere  practically  ruined,  for  the  thousand  poiinds  he  had 
paid  to  Silas  for  a  third  interest  in  the  farm  still  lay,  to¬ 
gether  with  another  two  hundred  and  lift}'  pounds,  in  the 
Standard  Bank  at  Newcastle,  in  Natal. 

And  so  in  due  co\irse  they  went. 

And  now  what  more  is  there  to  tell?  Jess,  to  those  whc 
i’ead  what  has  been  written  as  it  is  meant  to  be  read,  was 
iho  soul  of  it  all,  and  Jess  is  dead.  It  is  useless  to  set  a 
lifeless  thing  upon  its  feet,  rather  let  us  strive  to  follow 
the  soarings  of  the  spirit.  Jess  is  dead  and  her  story  at  an 
end. 

*  *  >(;  its  + 

One  word  more.  After  some  difficulty  John  Neil,  within 
three  months  of  his  arrival  in  England,  got  employment  as 
a  land  agent  to  a  large  estate  in  Rutlandshire,  which  posi¬ 
tion  he  fills  to  this  day,  with  credit  to  himself  and  such  ad¬ 
vantage  to  the  property  as  can  be  expected  nowadays. 
Also,  he  in  due  course  became  the  beloved  husband  of 
sweet  Bessie  Ci*ott.  and  on  the  whole  may  be  considered  a 
happy  man.  At  times,  however,  a  sorrow  of  which  his 
w'ife  knows  nothing  gets  the  better  of  him.  and  foi'  awhile 
ho  is  not  himself. 

He  is  not  a  man  much  given  to  sentiment  or  speculation, 
but  sometimes  when  his  day’s  work  is  done  and  he  strays 
down  to  his  garden  gate  and  looks  out  at  the  dim  and 
pen!  V  ii.l  English  landscape  below,  and  then  at  the  wide, 
gjiMi  •  •■(>wn  heavens  above,  he  f  f  he  hour  will 


§43 


J  I'JiSS. 


papsioiiate  eyes,  and  hear  that  sweet-remernbered  Toieo. 

For  lie  near  to  his  lost  love  now  that  she  is  dead 

as  he  djd  when  she  was  yet  alive,  and  from  time  to  time 
he  seems  to  e'uiariy  know  that  if  there  pi’ove  to  be  an  in- 
di^'id^al  finuie  for  us  strug^gling-  mortals,  he  will  liud  Jess 
wai'diig  to  gi’eet  him  at  its  gates. 


rHS  SHD.j 


! 


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There  is  such  a  profusion  of  good  hooks  in  this  list,  that  it 
is  an  impossibility  to  urg-e  you  to  select  any  particular  title  or 
author’s  work.  All  that  we  can  say  is  that  any  line  that  contains 
the  complete  works  of  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon,  Charles  Garvice, 
Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis,  May  Agnes  Fleming,  Wenona  Gilman,  Mrs. 
Alex  McVeigh  Miller,  aad  other  writers  of  the  same  type,  is 
worthy  of  your  attention,  especially  when  the  price  has  been 
set  at  15  cents  the  volume. 

These  books  range  from  256  to  320  pages.  They  are  printed 
from  good  type,  and  are  readable  from  start  to  finish. 

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most  emphatically  that  you  will  find  it  in  this  line. 

ALL  TITLES  ALWAYS  IN  PRINT 


I — Queen  Bess  . 

s — Ruby’s  Reward  . 

.  7 — Two  Keys  . 

9 — The  Virginia  Heiress . . 

12 — Edrie’s  Legacy  . 

17 — Leslie’s  Loyalty . 

(His  Love  So  True) 

22 — ^Elaine  . 

24 — A  Wasted  Love . . 

(On  Love’s  Altar) 

41 — Her  Heart’s  Desire . 

(An  Innocent  Girl) 

44 — That  Dowdy  . 

50 — Her  Ransom  . 

(Paid  For) 

55^ — Thrice  Wedded  . 

66 — ^Witch  Hazel  . 

70— ^Sydney  . 

(A  Wilful  Young  Woman) 

73 — ^The  Marquis  . 

77 — Tina  . 

79 — Out  of  the  Past  . . 

(Marjorie) 

84— Imogene . . . . 

( Dumaresq’s  Temptation). 


By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 
By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 
By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 
. .  By  May  Agnes  Fleming 
By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 
. By  Charles  Garvicr 

. By  Charles  Garvice 

. By  Charles  Garvice 

. By  Charles  Garvice 

By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 
. By  Charles  Garvice 

By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 
By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 
. By  Charles  Garvice 

. By  Charles  Garvice 

By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 
. By  Charles  Garvice 

. By  Charles  Garvice 


NEW  EAGLE  SERIEJk 

8s — Lorrie;  or.  Hollow  Gold..... . ....By  Charles  Garvice 

88 — Virgie's  Inheritance  . By  Mrs.  Georgic  Sheldon 

95 — Wilful  Maid  . . . . By  Charles  Garvice 

(Philippa) 

98—  Claire  . . By  Charles  Garvice 

(The  Mistress  of  Court  Regna) 

99 —  Audrey’s  Recompense  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

loa — Sweet  Cymbeline  . ........By  Charles  Garvice 

(Bellmaire) 

i09~Signa’s  Sweetheart  . . . . By  Charles  Gai^vice 

(Lord  Delamere’s  Bride) 

III — Faithful  Shirley  . ....By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

117 — She  Loved  Him  . By  Charles  Garvice 

119— ’Twixt  Smile  and  Tear......... . .By  Charles  Garvice 

(Dulcie) 

122 — Grazia’s  Mistake  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

130— A  Passion  Flower . . . By  Charles  Garvice 

(Madge) 

133 — Max  . . . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

136 — The  Unseen  Bridegroom . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

138 — A  Fatal  Wooing . By  Laura  Jean  Lihb^ 

141 — Lady  Evelyn  . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

144 — Dorothy’s  Jewels  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

146— Magdalen’s  Vow  . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

151 — The  Heiress  of  Glen  Gower . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

ISS — Nameless  Dell  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

157 — ^Who  Wins  . By  May  Agnes  IHeming 

166 — The  Masked  Bridal  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

168 — Thrice  Lost,  Thrice  Won  . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

174 — His  Guardian  Angel . By  Charles  Garvice 

177 — A  True  Aristocrat  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

181 — The  Baronet’s  Bride . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

188 — Dorothy  Arnold’s  Escape  .......  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

199 — Geoff rw’s  Victory  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

ao3 — Only  One  Love . By  Charles  Garvice 

210 — Wild  Oats  . By  Mrs,  Georgie  Sheldqn 

213 — The  Heiress  of  Egremont . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

215 — Only  a  Girl's  Love . By  Charles  Garvice 

219 — Lost:  A  Pearle . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

222 —  The  Lily  of  Mordaunt . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

223 —  Lcola  Dale’s  Fortime  . By  Charles  Garvice 

231 — The  Earl’s  Heir  . By  Charles  Garvice 

(Lady  No  rah) 

233 — Nora  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldor 

236 — Her  HumWe  Lover  . By  Charles  Garvip 

(The  Usurper;  or,  The  (jipsy  Peer) 

242 — A  Wounded  Heart  . By  Charles  Garvic* 

(Sweet  as  a  Rose) 

24^—4.  Hoidea'a  Conquest . Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 


NEW  EAGLE  SERIES. 


250 — A  Woman’s  Soul  . By  Charles  Garvice 

(Doris;  or,  Behind  the  Footlights) 

255 — The  Little  Marplot  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

257, — A  Martyred  Love  . By  Charles  Garvice 

(Iris ;  or,  Under  the  Shadows) 

266 —  The  Welfleet  Mystery  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

267 —  ^Jeanne  . . . . . By  Charles  Garvice 

(Barriers  Between) 

268 —  Olivia;  or,  It  Was  for  Her  Sake . By  Charles  Garvice 

272 — So  Fair,  So  False . By  Charles  Garvice 

(The  Beauty  of  the  Season) 

276 —  So  Nearly  Lost  . By  Charles  Garvice 

^The  Springtime  of  Love) 

277 —  Brownie’s  Triumph  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

280 — Love’s  Dilemma  . By  Charles  Garvice 

(For  an  Earldom) 

282 —  The  Forsaken  Bride . ...By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

283 —  My  Lady  Pride  . By  Charles  Garvice 

28| — The- Lady  of  Darracourt . By  Charles  Garvice 

(Flori^ 

288 — Sibyl’s  Influence  . . . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

291 —  A  Mysterious  Wedding  Ring  ....By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

292 —  For  Her  Only  . By  Charles  Garvice 

(Diana) 

296 — The  Heir  of  Vering . By  Charles  Garvice 

299 —  Little  Miss  Whirlwind . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

300 —  'The  Spider  and  the  Fly . By  Charles  Garvice 

(Violet) 

303 —  The  Queen  of  the  Isle . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

304 —  Stanch  as  a  Woman . By  Charles  Garvice 

(A  Maiden's  Sacrifice) 

305 —  Led  by  Love  . By  Charles  Garvice 

Sequel  to  “Stanch  as  a  Woman” 

309 — The  Heiress  of  Castle  Cliffs . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

3i>— Woven  on  Fate’s  Loom,  and  The  Snowdrift, 

By  Charles  Garvice 

315 — The  Dark  Secret . ....By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

317 —  lone  . By  Laura  Jean  Libbey 

(Adrien  Le  Roy) 

318 —  Stanch  of  Heart . . By  Charles  Garvice 

322 — Mildred  . By  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes 

326—  Parted  by  Fate . By  Laura  Jean  Libbey 

327 —  He  Loves  Me . By  Charles  Garvice 

328—  He  Loves  Me  Not . By  Charles  Garvice 

330 — Aikenside  . By  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes 

333 —  ^Stella’s  Fortune  . By  Charles  Garvice 

(The  Sculptor’s  Wooing) 

334 —  Miss  McDonald . By  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes 

339 —  His  Heart’s  Queen  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

340—  Bad  Hugh.  Vol.  I . By  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes 


NEW  EAGLE  SERIES* 


34i— Bad  Hugh.  Vol.  II . By  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes 

,344 — TresilHan  Court. . . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

345 — The  Scorned  Wife . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

34h — Guy  Tresillian’s  Fate.. . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

347 —  The  Eyes  of  Love . . . By  Charles  Garvice 

348 —  The  Hearts  of  Youth . By  Charles  Garvice 

351 —  The  Churchyard  Betrothal . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

352 —  Family  Pride.  Vol.  I . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

353 —  ^Family  Pride.  Vol.  H . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

354 —  A  Love  Comedy . By  Charles  Garvice 

360 —  The  Ashes  of  Love . By  Charles  Garvice 

361 —  A  Heart  Triumphant . By  Charles  Garvice 

367 —  The  Pride  of  Her  Life . By  Qiarles  Garvice 

368 —  Won  By  Love’s  Valor . .By  Charles  Garvice 

372 —  A  Girl  in  a  Thousand . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

373—  A  Thorn  Amqng  Roses  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

Sequel  to  “A  Girl  in  a  Thousand” 

380 —  Her  Double  Life . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

381 —  The  Sunshine  of  Love... . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

Sequel  to  “Her  Double  Life” 

382  ^Mona  . . . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

391  Marguerite's  Heritage  . ..By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

399— ’Betsey’s  Transformation . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

407  Esther,  the  Fright  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

415  . . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

440— Ednas  Secret  Marriage  . By  Charles  Garvice 

449  BailifFs  Scheme  . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

450  Rosamond^s  Love  . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

Sequel  to  “The  Bailiff’s  Scheme” 

451  ®  . Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

450  'A  Vixen  s  T reachery . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

457—  Adrift  in  the  World  . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

Sequel  to  “A  Vixen’s  Treachery” 

458—  When  Love  Meets  Love . . . By  Charles  Garvice 

464— The  Old  Life’s  Shadows . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

4^5  Oiffside  Her  Eden  . . .  . . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

Sequel  to  “The  Old  Life’s  Shadows” 

474  The  Belle  of  the  Season . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

475  Before  Pride  . By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

Sequel  to  The  Belle  of  the  Season” 

.481-Wedded,  Yet  No  Wife . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

489— Lucy  Harding  . By  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes 

495— Norine  s  Revenge . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

A  TT  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

S12— A  Heritage  of  Love  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

Sequel  to  “The  Golden  Key” 

5J9  The  Magic  Cameo  . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

The  Heatherford  Fortune . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

Sequel  to  “The  Magic  Cameo” 


NEW  EAGLE  SERIES. 


525 — Sweet  Kitty  Qover . By  Laura  Jean  Libbey,  , 

531 — ^Better  Than  Life . By  Charles  Garvicc  ^ 

534 — Lotta,  the  Cloak  Model . By  Laura  Jean  Libbey, 

542 —  Once  in  a  Life . i . By  Charles  Garvice 

543 —  The  Veiled  Bride.. . . . By  Laura  Jean  Libbey, 

548 — ’Twas  Love’s  Fault . By  Charles  Garvice 

551 — Pity — Not  Love . By  Laura  Jean  Libbey, 

553 —  Queen  Kate . . . . . By  Charles  Garvice 

554 —  Step  by  Step . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

557 — In  Cupid’s  Chains . By  Charles  Garvice 

630 — The  Verdict  of  the  Heart . By  Charles  Garvice 

635 — A  Coronet  of  Shame . By  Charles  Garvice 

640 — A  Girl  of  Spirit  . By  Charles  Garvice  , 

645 — ^A  Jest  of  Fate  . By  Charles  Garvice  ' 

64.8 — Gertrude  Elliott’s  Crucible . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

650— Diana’s  Destiny  . By  Charles  Garvice  , 

655 — Linked  by  Fate . By  Charles  Garvice  ( 

663 — Creatures  of  Destiny  . By  Charles  Garvice  | 

671 — When  Love  Is  Young...' . By  Charles  Garvice  ’ 

^76 — My  Lady^Beth  . . By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

679— Gold  in  the  Gutter  . . . By  Charles  Garvice 

712— Love  and  a  Lie  . . . . By  Charles  Garvice 

721 — 'A  Girl  from  the  South . _ . By  Charles  Garvice 

730 — ^John  Hungerford’s  Redemption. .  .By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

741— The  Fatal  Ruby  . By  Charles  Garvice 

749— The  tleart  of  a  Maid . By  Charles  Garvice 

758— The  Woman  in  It . By  Charles  Garvice 

774— Love  in  a  Snare . By  Charles  Garvice 

775_My  Love  Kitty  . By  Charles  Garvice 

776—  That  Strange  Girl  . By  Charles  Garvice 

777 —  Nellie  . By  Charles  Garvice 

778—  .Miss  Estcourt;  or  Olive . By  Charles  Garvice 

818— The  Girl  Who  Was  True . By  Charles  Garvice 

826 — The  Irony  of  Love..... . By  Charles  Garvice 

89^A  Terrible  Secret . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

897 — When  To-morrow  Came  . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

904— A  Mad  Marriage  . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

90s— A  Woman  Without  Mercy . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

Q12 — One  Night’s  Mystery  . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

913— The  Cost  of  a  Lie . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

920 —  Silent  and  True  . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

921 —  A  Treasure  Lost  . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

925 —  Forrest  House  . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

926—  He  Loved  Her  Once  . . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

930 —  Kate  Danton  . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

931 —  Proud  as  a  Queen . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

935 —  Queenie  Hetherton  . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

936 —  Mightier  Than  Pride . ..........By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

940— The  Heir  ®f  Charlton . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 


NEW  EAGLE  SERIES 


‘  941 — While  Lcwe  Stood  Waiting. ....  .By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

945 —  Gretchen  . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

946 —  Beauty  That  Faded . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

950 —  Carried  by  Storm . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

951 —  Love’s  Dazzling  Glitter . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

954 —  Marguerite  . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

955 —  When  Love  Spurs  Onward . By  Mary  J.  Holrnes 

960 —  Lost  for  a  Woman . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

961 —  His  to  Love  or  Hate . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

964 — Paul  Ralston’s  First  Love . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

,965 — Where  Love’s  Shadows  Lie  Deep . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

968 — The  Tracy  Diamonds . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

.  969 — She  Loved  Another . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

972 —  The  Cromptons  . . . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

973 —  Her  Husband  Was  a  Scamp . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

975 — The  Merivale  Banks . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

978 —  The  One  Girl  in  the  World . By  Charles  Garvice 

979 —  His  Priceless  Jewel  . ....Bj'-  Charles  Garvice 

982 —  The  Millionaire’s  Daughter  and  Other  Stories, 

By  Charles  Garvice 

983 —  Doctor  Hathern’s  Daughters . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

984 —  The  Colonel’s  Bride  . By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

988 — Her  Ladyship’s  Diamonds,  and  Other  Stories, 

By  Charles  Garvice 

998 —  Sharing  Her  Crime  . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

999 —  The  Heiress  of  Sunset  Hall . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

1004 —  Maude  Percy’s  Secret . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

1005 —  The  Adopted  Daughter . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

j  loio — The  Sisters  of  Torwood . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

I  1015 — A  Changed  Heart . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

1016 — Enchanted  . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

1025 —  A  Wife’s  Tragedy . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

1026 —  Brought  to  Reckoning . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

j  1027 — A  Madcap  Sweetheart . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

I  1028 — An  Unhappy  Bargain . By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

!  1029 — Only  a  Working  Girl . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

;  1030 — The  Unbidden  Guest . By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

j  1031 — The  Man  and  His  Millions . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

;  1032 — 'Mabel’s  Sacrifice  . ..By  Charlotte  M.  Stanley 

'  1033 — Was  He  Worth  It? . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1034 — Her  Two  Suitors . By  Wenona  Gilman 

X03S — Edith  Percival . By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

1036 —  Caught  in  the  Snare . May  Agnes  Fleming 

1037 —  A  Love  Concealed. . By  Erhma  Garrison  Jones 

1038 —  The  Price  of  Happiness ....  By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1039 —  The  Lucky  Man.. . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1040 —  A  Forced  Promise . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1041 —  The  Crime  of  Love . ..By  Barbara  Howard 

1042 —  The  Bride’s  Opals . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

3043 — Love  That  Was  Cursed . Geraldine  Fleming 


NEW  EAGLE  SERIES. 


1044 —  'Thorns  of  Regret . By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1045 —  Love  Will  Find  the  Way . By  Wenona  Gilman 

1046 —  Bitterly  Atoned... . By  Mrs.  E.  Burke  Collins 

1047 —  Told  in  the  Twilight . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1048 —  A  Little  Barbarian . By  Charlotte  Kingsley 

1049 —  Love’s  Golden  Spell . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1050 —  Married  in  Error . By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1051 —  If  It  Were  True . By  Wenona  Gilman 

1052 —  Vivian’s  Love  Story . By  Mj;s.  E.  Burke  Collins 

1053 —  From  Tears  to  Smiles . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1054 —  When  Love  Dawns . By  Adelaide  Stirling 

1055 —  Love’s  Earnest  Prayer . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1056 —  The  Strength  of  Love. . By  Mrs.  Alex.  McVeigh  Miller 

1057 —  A  Lost  Love . By  Wenona  Gilman 

1058 —  The  Stronger  Passion . By  Lillian  R.  Drayton 

1059 —  What  Love  Can  Cost . By  Evelyn  Malcolm 

1060 —  At  Another’s  Bidding . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1061 —  Above  All  Things . By  Adelaide  Stirling 

1062 —  The  Curse  of  Beauty . . . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1063 —  Her  Sister’s  Secret . By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1064 —  ^Married  in  Haste . By  Wenona  Gilman 

1065 —  Fair  Maid  Marian . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

1066 —  No  Man’s  Wife . . . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1067 —  A  Sacrifice  to  Love . By  Adelaide  Stirling 

1068 —  Her  Fatal  Gift . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1069 —  Her  Life’s  Burden . By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1070 —  Evelyn,  the  Actress . By  Wenona  Gilman 

1071 —  Married  for  Money . By  Lucy  Randall  Comfort 

1072 —  A  Lost  Sweetheart . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1073 —  'A  Golden  Sorrow . By  Charlotte  M.  Stanley 

1074 —  Her  Heart’s  Challenge . By  Barbara  Howard 

1075 —  His  Willing  Slave... . By  Lillian  R.  Drayton 

1076 —  A  Freak  of  Fate . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

1077—  Her  Punishment . By  Laura  Jean  Libbey 

1078 —  The  Shadow  Between  Them. By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1079 —  No  Time  for  Penitence . By  Wenona  Gilman 

1080 —  Norna’s  Black  Fortune . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1081—  A  Wilful  Girl . By  Lucy  Randall  Comfort 

1082—  Love’s  First  Kiss . . . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

1083—  Lola  Dunbar’s  Crime . By  Barbara  Howard 

1084—  Ethel’s  Secret . By  Charlotte  M.  Stanley 

1085—  Lynette’s  Wedding . By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1086 —  A  Fair  Enchantress . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1087—  The  Tide  of  Fate . By  Wenona  Gilman 

1088—  Her  Husband’s  Other  Wife. ....  .By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

1089—  Hearts  of  Stone . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1090 —  In  Love’s  Springtime . By  Laura  JeanLibbey 

1091 —  Love  at  the  Loom . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1092—  What  Was  She  to  Him?.... By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

TOQ3— Fer  Another’s  Fault . By  Charlotte  M.  Stanley 


NEW  EAGLE  SERIES. 

- - -  - - - — ^ - - - 

1094 — Hearts  and  Dollars . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1(^5 — A  Wife’s  Triumph . By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

lootj — A  Bachelor  Girl . By  Lucy  May  Russell 

1097 —  Love  and  Spite . By  Adelaide  Stirling 

1098 —  ^Leola’s  Heart . . . By  Charlotte  M.  Stanley 

1099 —  The  Power  of  Love . r-“®y  Geraldine  Fleming 

1100 —  An  Angel  of  Evil . By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

1101 —  True  to  His  Bride . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

1102 —  The  Lady  of  Beaufort  Park . By  Wenona  Gilman 

1103 —  A  Daughter  of.  Darkness . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1104 —  My  Pretty  Maid . By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1105 —  Master  of  Her  Fate . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1106 —  A  Shado'wed  Happiness . By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

1107 —  John  Elliott’s  Flirtation . ....By  Lucy  May  Russell 

1108 —  A  Forgotten  Love . By  Adelaide  Stirling 

1109 —  Sylvia,  Tlje  Forsaken . By  Charlotte  M.  Stanley 

mo — Her  Dearest  Love . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

Jill — Love’s  Greatest  Gift . By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

IIT2 — 'Mischievous  Maid  Faynie . By  Laura  Jean  Libbey 

1 1 13 — In  Love’s  Name . . . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

III  14 — 'Love’s  Clouded  Dawn . By  Wenona  Gilman 

Ills — A  Blue  Grass  Heroine . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

iliid-: — Only  a  Kiss . .-By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1 1 17 — 'Virgie  Talcott’s  Mission . By  Lucy  May  Russell 

;  1118 — Her  Evil  Genius . By  Adelaide  Stirling 

:  1119 — ^In  Love’s  Paradise . By  Charlotte  M.  Stanley 

1120 —  Sold  for  Gold . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1121 —  'Andrew  Leicester’s  Love . By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

1122 —  'Taken  by  Storm . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

1123 —  The  Mills  of  the  Gods . By  Wenona  Gilman 

11124 — The  Breath  of  Slander . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

'1125 — ^Loyal  Unto  Death . By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1126 —  A  Spurned  Proposal . By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

1127 —  ^Daredevil  Betty . By  Evel3m  Malcolm 

1128 —  ^Her  Life’s  Dark  Cloud . By  Lillian  R.  Drayton 

.  1129 — True  Love  Endures . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

!  11130 — The  Battle  of  Hearts . Bj'-  Geraldine  Fleming 

1I131 — 'Better  Than  Riches . By  Wenona  Gilman 

!  1132 — Tempted  By  Love . .' . Bj'’  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

11133 — Between  Good  and  Evil . By  Charlotte  M.  Stanley 

1134 —  ^A  Southern  Princess . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

1135 —  The  Thorns  of  Love . By  Evelyn  Malcolm 

1136 —  A  Married  Flirt . By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1137 —  Her  Priceless  Love . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1138 —  'My  Own  Sweetheart . By  Wenona  Gilman 

1139 —  Love’s  Harvvnn . . By  Adelaide  Fox  Robinson 

IT40 — His  Two  Loves . . . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1141 —  TJie  Love  He  Sought . By  Lillian  R.  Drayton 

1142 —  A  Fateful  Promise . .....By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

1143—  Love  Surely  Triumphs . By  Charlott-'  May  Kingsley 


NEW  EAGLE  SERIES. 


1144 —  The  Haunting  Past . . By  Evelyn  Malcolm 

1145 —  Sorely  Tried . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

1146 —  Falsely  Accused..' . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1147 —  Love  Given  in  Vain . By  Adelaide  Fox  Robinson 

1148 —  No  One  to  Help  Her . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1149 —  Her  Golden  Secret . By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

1150 —  Saved  From  Herself . . . By  Adelaide  Stirling 

1151 —  The  Gypsy’s  Warning . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

1152 —  Caught  in  Love’s  Net . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1153 —  The  Pride  of  My  Heart . By  Laura  Jean  Libbey 

1154 —  A  Vagabond  Heiress . By  Charlotte  May  Kingsley 

1155 —  That  Terrible  Tomboy . ' . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1156 —  The  Man  She  Hated.... By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1157 —  ^Her  Fateful  Choice . By  Charlotte  M.  Stanley 

1158 —  A  Hero  For  Love’s  Sake . By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

1159 —  A  Penniless  Princess . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

1160 —  Love’s  Rugged  Pathway . ......By  Idia  Reade  Allen 

1161 —  Had  She  Loved  Him  Less . By  Laura  Jean  Libbey 

1162 —  The  Serpent  and  the  Dover.  ..By  Charlotte  May  Kingsley 

1163 —  What  Love  Made  Her . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

In  order  that  there  may  be  no  confusion,  we  desire  to  say  that 
the  books  listed  below  will  be  issued  during  the  respective  months 
in  New  York  City  and  vicinity.  They  may  not  reach  the  readers 
at  a  distance  promptly,  on  account  of  delays  in  transportation. 


To  Be  Published  in  July,  1924. 

1164 —  Love  Conquers  Pride . By  Mrs.  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 

1165 —  His  Unbounded  Faith . By  Charlotte  M.  Stanley 

1166 —  A  Heart’s  Triumph . By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

To  Be  Published  in  August,  1924. 

1167 —  Stronger  than  Fate . By  Emma  Garrison  Jones 

1168 —  A  Virginia  Goddess . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

To  Be  Published  in  September,  1924. 

1169 —  Love’s  Young  Dream . By  Laura  Jean  Libbey 

1170 —  When  Fate  Decrees . By  Adelaide  Fox  Robinson 

To  Be  Published  in  October,  1924. 

1171 —  For  a  Flirt’s  Love . By  Geraldine  Fleming 

1172 —  All  For  Love . By  Mrs,  Alex  McVeigh  Miller 


To  Be  Published  in  November,  1924, 

1173 —  Could  He  Have  Known . By  Charlotte  May  Stanley 

1174 —  The  Girl  He  Loved . ...P  .Adelaide  Stirling 

To  Be  Published  in  December,  1924. 

117s — They  Met  By  Chance . By  Ida  Reade  Allen 

1176 —  The  Lovely  Constance . By  Laura  Jean  Libbey 

1177 —  Thft  T  ^ve  That  Prevailed. ..  .By  Mrs.  E-  BimV''  Collins 


11 


3C 


3cnz 


3c=]c: 


WHY? 


During  the  year  1923,  more  Street  &  Smith 
novels  were  sold  than  in  any  other  single  year. 
3^0  the  outsider  who  never  read  one,  the 
natural  question  occurs — “Why?” 

Well,  we  will  tell  you  why.  If  a  fairy  wand 
could  suddenly  invest  all  the  characters  in  our 
paper  covered  books 'with  life,  what  a  mighty 
army  of  them  there  would  be,  and  how  inter¬ 
esting  it  would  be  to  watch  them  go  through 
the  adventures  as  told  in  the  books! 

We  would  find  the  millionaire  and  the 
pauper  rubbing  elbows.  We  would  find  the 
honest  man  and  the  thief  conversing.  We 
would  find  the  mother  and  the  social  butterfly 
not  only  giving  their  views  on  life,  but  actually 
living  their  lives  before  our  very  eyes. 

Do  you  not  see,  then,  why  the  Street  & 
Smith  novel  is  popular?  Must  we  tell  you? 
It  is  simply  and  solely  that  our  stories  depic- 
life  as  it  is,  and  there  is  nothing  more  vitallj 
interesting  than  life. 

This  catalog  just  teems  with  titles  of  good, 
wholesome  books.  Ask  your  dealer  to  show 
you  an  assortment.  He  will  be  glad  to. 

STREEi  &  SMITH  CORPORATION 

79  Seventh  Avenue  New  York  City 


nczic 


□CZ3£ 


